Something Wicked
by Fuzzy Peaches1
Summary: Valerie Turner wasn't sure what brought a man like Tig Trager to her door, but her own complicated and painful past will ensure that he's not a passing footnote. ** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE ** ** AU/non-canon warning **
1. Chapter 1

Psychopaths weren't usually found at couples' counselling. Valerie Turner was used to couples who had been married for a long time, lost the zest in their love life, or were working to regain trust after a betrayal of some kind. That type of drama she was used to. This man was … not that.

A caged lion at the zoo; that's exactly what was sitting in the arm chair across from her. A large hulking frame that made the chair look ridiculously dainty. He wore jeans, shit kicker boots, leather wrist bands, dark button-down shirt, and a heavy leather vest that was the most intimidating part of his whole mystique. It had a huge grim reaper on the back holding an anarchy symbol. She didn't have to be born and bred here to recognize the patch from the local motorcycle gang. Scratch that – _club_. Motorcycle _club_.

Valerie knew the rumours and stories on this one, Alexander Trager. He killed people for the Sons of Anarchy. That was his duty: they pointed the gun and he went off. He killed men and women with the same detachment. When she'd asked her receptionist, Teresa, a life-long Charming resident, about him, the younger woman had told her not to be alone in the office with him. The 95-pound waif of incredibly white teeth and blonde hair had offered to hover near the door. Even without the local lore cranking up her nervousness, the man himself was enough to make any rational person wary.

Nothing prepared her for the eyes, though. They were seeing every nuance of the room. Piercing, blue eyes that glared out of a face creased by weather and hard living.

The hands clasped in front of him wouldn't stop wringing each other. The heavy rings were twisted around repeatedly. She knew that he was beyond uncomfortable to be there, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what brought him to her door in the first place.

Valerie waited. This was one thing she was good at. The men were never the first ones to start talking, and without a partner here to goad on their significant other the channels for a decent conversation would be hard-forged, if they happened at all. Valerie didn't have much hope.

"Can we start by you telling me how you heard about my office?" Jesus, he made her nervous. The air was sucked out the room with him in it. All the colour and light she made a point of including in the décor were lost in all the black that he wore.

He rubbed an eye brow, gave a strange laugh. "A friend told me to come here."

"And why was that?"

"Well, I … I punched him in the face after he dropped a wrench on my foot."

Valerie's eyebrows flew up. "Why would that make you punch someone?"

"I've been on edge. Very … on edge." He rubbed his hands on his thighs, leaning back in the chair. "Every time someone asks me the simplest question I lose it."

"So on first glance I'm going to guess you've been under great stress, is that right?"

Those eye-blue eyes slid over to her, an unreadable smirk on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I've had some stress lately."

Valerie had the feeling he was laughing at her. She didn't particularly care. She didn't know him. "Mister Trager -"

"Tig."

The damn nickname again. It was too familiar for the relationship she was trying to initiate here. "Right. Sorry. I do couples counselling. You're here alone. I'm trying to wrap my head around why you're … _here_."

He stood so suddenly she jumped, but he seemed not to notice. He stroked his jaw, moving to the windows that overlooked her front yard. "Okay, you're right, Doc. I'll tell you what. I'll get to it because this entire thing feels far too fucking weird for me to deal with. So I might as well just throw it out there."

She waited for what was coming next, letting him stare outside. Patiently.

"I find, at this point in time, that I am … unable … to perform. Sexually. It happened suddenly. I don't know why. I just can't get it up."

Valerie looked down at the blank note pad in her lap. "Okay. Well, that's something to start with. Would you mind sitting back down?"

"Yes, I would."

"Okay then. That's fine." She exhaled. "Have you had … a medical assessment?"

"The fuck you mean by that?"

She looked back up, and as angry as the voice sounded the face was just looking at her, questioning. "Well, it could be a medical problem. You should rule out that it's not E.D."

He just blinked, the harsh jaw clenched tight. "E … D?"

"Well, there are many medical issues that can impede sexual function. If that's the case no amount of talk here will help that. At a certain age -"

"Jesus fucking Christ."

Valerie gave her best _Don't Push It _face. It worked. "I mean it. Unless you can rule out a medical condition there's not a lot I can do."

"I have never in my life had any performance problems, okay? As long as there was gash to be had I had it."

She held up her hands, almost a motion of surrender. "Okay, okay. I get it. This is the first time it's happened." She sighed. "I'm going to ask a personal question."

"Why not? You've already got me fucking scared that I need a blue pill to get laid from now on."

She pointed to the chair, her discomfort making her slightly bitchy now. To her surprise he sat as she instructed, running hands over his crazed dark hair and stroking his beard again. Suddenly the fidgeting made sense. This really was a man that used sex as a stress reliever, and without it he was a walking nuclear catastrophe.

"Can you get an erection on your own?"

His expression snapped right to pissed. "What?"

"Can you get an erection with no one else around? No one _expecting_ anything from you? Like, first thing in the morning? Do you … wake up half-mast?"

That stare was unreadable. When he burst in to a mad cackle of laughter she jumped, realizing what had just come out of her own mouth. Her face grew warm and she hoped to hell the blush wasn't obvious.

"I haven't tried doing … that. Yet." He said, still laughing and rubbing his face.

"Then let's make that your first bit of homework. You find out if the plumbing works. Then we can assess the main frame to see what circuit's flipped." Great, she was nervous and making metaphors like a drunk on their first date in decades.

He slung back in the chair, put his chin on his hand, elbow on the chair's arm as he took her in. Valerie refused to squirm, knowing he was sizing her up to see what she was made of. She wouldn't fall for it. But those eyes were greedy as they ran from her face down to her legs, crossed in front of her. Valerie was wishing then for cooler weather so she could always wear nice, loose-fitting trousers comfortably. She couldn't lie and say that the blatant appraisal didn't tingle her skin.

His eyes returned to her face and she suddenly realized the eyes could be as joking as they were menacing. They actually twinkled at her right then. "Okay Doc. I promise to do my homework. For _you._ Thinking of you the whole time."

A lick of heat shot through her, and she cleared her throat, getting to her feet. She pointedly ignored the innuendo. "That's our hour. If you want to keep a standing Tuesday afternoon appointment please confirm it with Teresa at the front desk."

He sat where he was, looking up at her now. His expression hadn't changed and she fought the urge not to join in the humour he was obviously finding in this situation. She opened her mouth to tell him to leave less politely when he stood with a sudden surge of energy that had her backing up as quick as a reflex.

She cursed inwardly, pissed she'd let the intimidation show. So she forced her chin upwards to meet his eye. She wished he hadn't seen her flinch.

"You're not scared of me, are you, Doc?" The voice was so sardonic.

"Are you trying to intimidate me, Mister Trager? Because that's not a great way to handle your therapist. If I so felt like it, I could leave that brain of yours to be your only companion. Your brain and your sad, limp dick."

He pushed his jaw out, but rather than getting mad his smile broadened. "There she is."

Valerie was taken aback. "Who?"

"The bitch that's going to fix me." He brought his face closer, and suddenly he was too much too close to her. Imposing. Terrifying. "I knew she was in there."

Then he was gone. Sunshine flooded the room once again. She could breathe.

Valerie basically fell back in to her chair, breathing deep, feeling the sweat that ran down her back in a couple of beads, wetness under her arms confirming that her body had been expecting harm, even as her brain had been sending her mouth off to places she sure didn't intend for it to go.

A throat cleared in the doorway and Valerie straightened up. "Teresa. Hey."

"He … made another appointment. For Thursday."

"_This _Thursday?"

"Yeah."

The day after tomorrow?

Teresa cleared her throat. "What was he doing here for couples' counselling?"

Valerie got to her feet, flipping her notebook closed. "Teresa, you know better than that."

The girl nodded, chastised. "I know, I know. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Valerie stood and tossed the notebook on her desk. She shook her hands, willing her nerves to settle down. Teresa noticed it, of course.

"What did he do? Did he scare you?"

Valerie looked at her hand, shaking her head. "Not really. I mean, he works pretty hard to make a person nervous. But … he wasn't threatening, no." She gave Teresa a pointed look. "The scariest part of him is probably everything you all say behind his back."

Teresa shrugged. "Just going by what my momma always told me."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'd like to say I remember every encounter, Doc. But the truth is that's just a Greatest Hits account of some of the more memorable conquests."

Valerie had her hand to her temple, propping her head up, fighting to maintain composure. Again the room was too small, too stuffy. Having Alexander Trager open up about the _Greatest Hits _of his sex life had her wanting to be sick. And in need of a long, hot shower with bleach and a sand blaster.

Valerie had to take it on his word that it was all true, but she knew he'd unloaded to shock her, see what she was made of. He wasn't going to trust her with any real, _true_ facts about himself, no intimate details, unless he knew she could handle a little "sharing." But she knew she was likely pale.

At least her voice sounded strong. "I'm going to assume that's all true. I'm glad you feel you can talk to me about this."

He'd opted to stretch out on the sofa this time. It wasn't a head-shrinking lounging sofa but when he'd laid down and propped his boots up on the one arm he'd been staring at her, waiting to see what she would do. When she simply took her chair and told him to _talk_ he'd almost looked disappointed she hadn't scolded him about feet on the furniture or something. Now he peered around his boots to study her.

She wore pants today. Loose-legged linen trousers. The blouse was sleeveless as her only surrender to the heat. It didn't stop him from staring too long and hard at her.

Valerie raised her eyebrows. "If you'd like, you can share things that are actually more … private. If you're comfortable."

"More private than that?"

She sat up straighter, allowing a half-smile. "Whores and biker sluts aren't exactly intimate, are they?"

He cackled, swinging his feet off the arm of the sofa and setting them on the floor. "Who the fuck's looking for intimacy?"

Valerie shook her head. At her age it was hard for her to be exasperated by the kind of woman who would just use her body the ply the base needs of a man that sees her as nothing but a physical release. And be fulfilled by it somehow. When you think of everyone else as their own version of a grown up, worrying about some people was useless concern and energy wasted.

_If there was gash to be hard, I had it._

She couldn't image for one second trusting this man enough to get on an elevator with him, never mind a room with a locking door. And _that _thought was bordering on inappropriate, come to think of it.

He reached in to his vest, pulling something from a pocket inside. Valerie watched with some horror as a self-rolled cigarette was produced.

"You cannot smoke in here," she said sternly. He ignored her, reaching in to the other side of his vest and pulling out a stainless steel lighter. "Excuse me?"

"I heard you. This isn't a cigarette."

Her mouth was working open and closed, and her anger was trying to get her talking but she was so shocked it took a minute. "Then you _certainly_ can't smoke it in here."

He lit the blunt anyway, tucking the lighter away and dismissing her protestations with a shake of his head. "Relax."

She got to her feet, crossed the room and pushed open the only sliding window in the office. "For fuck's sake," she muttered.

"Did you just _cuss_?"

She crossed her arms and spun on him. "Have you _stopped _cussing since you got here?"

That made him smile, lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Look at you. You're so … pissed off."

She took a long breath. "You should be careful where you consume and use controlled substances."

He pointed at her with the hand holding the lit joint. "You said this was a safe place. That everything that was said and done here was strictly between you and me, Doc."

"That is illegal."

"And you want me to trust you." The smile was gone, the laugh vanished from his tone. Locking his eyes on hers he took another pull on the joint. He held it, exhaled, then added, "So if I can't trust you, go ahead and call the sheriff's office."

She set her jaw. Her need to prove that she was up to the challenge of dealing with this asshole was of even higher importance than actually helping him at that point, which was a terrible thing to admit to herself. But she wasn't perfect either. And he'd actually come _back _here, hadn't he?

Valerie crossed the room, stood directly in front of him and held out her hand.

He took his time enjoying another hit, then handed it to her, head low like he expected to be thrown in jail.

Instead of turning and stomping out the blunt she brought it to her lips, inhaling deep and holding it. His look of shock was worth it; his eyes were wide, mouth slack like he couldn't believe she'd just done that. When she exhaled she actually had to chuckle before handing back the pot and taking her seat again.

Valerie watched him finish the joint, crushing out the roach in a decorative bowl she had on the table. She wanted to wince but she just met his gaze, noting the way his mouth upturned on one side. She amused him. Well, at least that was something different from contempt.

"I've told you a lot about me, Doc. I don't like the disadvantage. I share, then you share. How does that sound?"

She shook her head. "That's not how therapy works. I'm here to help _you. _Your treatment has nothing to do with me."

"That makes me uneasy."

She leaned forward a bit, elbows on the arms of her chair. "That's just the way it is, Mister Trager."

"Tig."

She just shook her head, picking up her notepad again.

"Come on, just say it once."

"This relationship is patient-therapist, Alex."

He shook his head, leaning back and writhing in pain. "Jesus Christ, make it Mister Trager then at least. FUCK!"

The shouting was too much, and the last thing she needed was Teresa coming to her rescue and smelling marijuana in the room.

"Settle down, Tig."

He stopped immediately, that strange laugh sounding again as he ran his eyes over her again. He bit his lip now, eyes narrowing. "What I wouldn't give for just one good piece of … personal information on you, Doc."

Her heart fluttered, stupidly. Likely from the pot. Yeah, it had to be the pot.

"I know how to the play the guitar," she blurted, the first thing that came to mind.

His brow furrowed, they stared at each other blankly, then both started laughing in unison, heads thrown back at the absurdity. Valerie was likely blushing but didn't particularly care. Christ, it had been a long time since she'd smoked pot.

"Well Doc. I see you in a whole new light now," he said, rubbing his eyes as a strange noise sounded. He pulled out a cell phone, still chuckling as he barked out, "Yeah?" to whoever was calling.

She had a rule about no phones during sessions, but smoking pot with a client was likely much worse than letting a guy answer a phone call with only five minutes left in their hour.

"Ahhh dammit. I'll be right there." He snapped the phone shut and rose to his considerable height, face serious again. He turned those eyes on her again and they were back to how they'd been when he first walked in to her practice. "I've got to go."

She nodded. "Understood. I hope everything's okay?"

He shrugged, more of an uncomfortable rolling of his shoulders under all that leather. How could he wear all that in this heat?

Valerie stood, holding her note pad to her chest. "Sorry if it's none of my business. I didn't mean to press."

Hands on his belt he looked at ease but he likely wasn't. She was still very aware that he was more than likely as deadly as she'd been told. In the haze of what she'd smoked she honestly couldn't tell if it was terrifying or … something else.

Damn it. She was far too old to still find the bad boys attractive.

"It's fine," he said, turning for the door. "I just have to go get my daughter. She's been picked up on a D.U.I."

"Daughter?" Christ, he treated women like tissue and had a _daughter_?

He turned back to her, hand on the doorknob, the bemused expression back. "Oh yeah. I got two."

Then he was gone.

Valerie eyed the mess he'd left in her glass bowl on the coffee table, frowning. Fucking men. They come sweeping in, make a mess and leave.

The thought made her giggle, and she took a Kleenex from the box on the table to wipe it out, meaning to flush it in the bathroom. Teresa's voice startled her.

"Jesus – is that pot?"

Valerie couldn't _not _look completely guilty as Teresa came in to the room, arms crossed over her chest. She had a moment of wondering how someone so young had been made into such an old maid, but she kept the thought to herself. Except then she laughed and covered her mouth, knowing that she was totally busted.

"You … you smoked pot? With a patient? With _that _patient?" Teresa was whispering for some reason. No one else was there. Especially not their fucking _parents_ for Christ's sake.

Valerie began giggling again, and had to leave to flush the illegal substance she holding before Teresa had a stroke.


	3. Chapter 3

"I always remember the way he _used_ to be," June Taylor said, eyes just starting to well up. "The second he would come home from work he would just … be all over me."

Valerie raised her eyebrows, nodding sympathetically. For the life of her she couldn't imagine either one of them putting forth the energy to be all over anything but a box of powdered donuts. Then again, that was an incredibly mean thing to even be _thinking_.

The Taylors came to see her once a month; whenever they had a spat. They were both round, aging, and she got the impression that this was as dressed up as they ever got. He was in basketball shorts and a T-shirt that likely came with a case of beer. She was in flannel peddle-pushers with a shapeless T-shirt adorned with screen-printed flowers that had seen better days.

Valerie allowed herself to be catty in this respect because she knew very damn well they had to money to put themselves together even just a _little bit_. But the comfort of twenty-two years of marriage made them lazy, and it had seeped in to every aspect of their relationship.

She hounded him to be more interesting. He told her she was fat and then left to go to the bar. Hardly a unique story but to this cast of characters it was, of course, all they had.

"David," Valerie prompted. "Do you have a response to that?"

He gave her a look that basically asked _What the fuck are we here for? _But to his credit he at least answered when she asked. "I am not twenty-five anymore. Five o'clock the only thing I want to do is go home and have a beer with my supper. I'm sorry if that's not the stuff of her stupid romance novels but that's the way it is."

Valerie turned her attention to June. "June, relationships are give and take. What are you willing to do to show David what he means to you?"

While she struggled to answer Valerie heard raised voices in the lobby. Before she could excuse herself to check on Teresa the door swung inward violently and Alex Trager walked in, a veritable hurricane of rage.

Teresa could be heard behind him, insisting, "She's with clients, you can't go in!"

Valerie got to her feet, blood boiling. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

She crossed her arms, biting down a swear-ridden tirade. "That isn't how this works. You make an appointment and that's when we talk. This is incredibly inappropriate."

His eyes flashed at her once, then he turned to the Taylors. June shrank back, not meeting his gaze like she thought it might steal her soul to do so. David Taylor looked somewhat entertained for some reason.

"You two married?" Trager snapped, pointing at them. David nodded, June made a sound of fear. "Well, be fucking nicer to each other. You should both be glad _anyone _wants anything to do with you. Get the fuck out."

Valerie opened her mouth to protest but June Taylor was already scrambling for the door. David Taylor stopped to shake Trager's hand before they both ducked around Teresa and vanished.

"Valerie, I can call the police -"

"No police," he snapped, and his voice was incredibly tight. This may have been scary for some, but for Alex Trager this was just the _verge_ of snapping. If he was here to hurt something or burst in to tears she wasn't sure.

"It's okay," she told Teresa, keeping her voice level. "I'm fine. Cancel the billing for the Taylors though, okay?"

"Tig," another voice came from the lobby, one she didn't know. He wore a familiar uniform, shorter with scraggly grey hair that hung in his face. "We've got to get back. I was supposed to take you right back to the clubhouse."

Teresa was stuck between this new person and Valerie, eyes wide with a lot of _what the hell do I do?_

Valerie was just as stuck. Do you help or send a person off to deal with their own personal stuff on their own? Nevermind that this _was _a patient of hers, clearly having some kind of crisis.

She had to find out if it was personal. "Give us a minute," she said, eyeing the stranger with what she hoped was an authoritative stare. "He's a patient," she reminded the man, and he didn't like it but he nodded.

Valerie moved to shut the door. She didn't get there. A steel vice clamped on her arm, turning her around. She cried out and made a fist, but when she looked up in to his face she froze.

Tig Trager dropped to the floor in front of her, his sobs shaking him violently. He wound his arms around her waist, burying his face in to her stomach, muffling the terrible sounds he was making.

"Valerie?" Teresa's voice was very small behind her, and she twisted to reassure the girl she was okay. She waved her off, indicating she should close the door. The man had been about to step in but one look had him backing out.

When they were shut inside she took a moment to gather her thoughts, her body quaking along with his. She had no idea what to do with her hands, so she rested one on his back, right between his shoulder blades. She carefully placed the other one on his head, surprised at how soft his hair was.

She let him cry. Valerie drew circles on his back and ran her fingers through his dark curls, waiting for him to pull himself together. She knew how much it cost him to come here, and how embarrassed he was likely going to be about crying in front of her.

When the weeping dissolved in to sniffling, he pulled away from her suddenly, the loss of his body warmth hitting her. He stood smoothly, crossing to her desk and grabbing a Kleenex, avoiding having to look at her.

Valerie was not going to be the first one to talk, but she _was _going to be the first to sit. So she parked it in the middle of the sofa, trying not to hover or press. He moved to the window, staring out again.

"My daughter, Dawn, came to see me a couple weeks ago," he said, numbly. "She wanted money. She always did. But … if I didn't give her cash she'd never see me at all." His laugh was very bitter. "What a hypocrite. They were little and I couldn't wait to get away. Now here I am, paying them to see me. Fucking pathetic."

Also the most real and honest thing she'd ever heard him say. But she stayed quiet.

"Before I started coming here … I killed a man's daughter."

Her stomach leapt and she fought to stay calm.

"It was an accident. I went after someone who'd ordered our president to be killed –"

Valerie cut him off. "Don't tell me this."

He turned reddened eyes on her. "What?"

She shook her head. "You know why. I can't know this stuff."

She saw the realization wash across his face and he blinked, realizing he'd almost spilled shit he shouldn't have. So he nodded. "I just watched my daughter being burned alive."

_Jesus Christ_. She thought it, might have whispered it.

"I killed my own baby." He collapsed against the wall, doubled over. She moved to him, not even thinking that he would strike out at her. This had to have just happened. He said he was going to get her yesterday –

He let Valerie hold him, hunched over as he was, head on her shoulder, arms around her back. She tried not to smell the smoke and other burnt smells that clung to him. Holy shit, this was all very real. He was muttering that his daughter had been calling out to him, and he'd been begging to be the one to die instead. She kept her arms tight around his shoulders. She couldn't imagine it … his own child.

Valerie was so far over her head at that moment she was completely shocked mute. This wasn't something she could help with. He needed grief counselling … _after _allowing the shock to wear off for a couple days. She was more likely to cause damage if she even _attempted_ giving advice.

Although, he didn't ask for anything.

She shook her head. "I can't imagine how painful this must be."

He rubbed his face roughly with both hands. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "No, it's good you … reached out."

"No, it's not okay. I shouldn't have bust in like that. It can't be good for business."

"Tig -"

"I should go." He strode for the door almost like he needed to escape.

"Tig," her voice was stronger now, and he turned when called. She'd wanted to break down walls with him and now they were in ruins. The pain in his face was clear enough that she imagined he felt it, too. Just a shadow of it was enough to make her catch her breath.

She crossed to her desk, took a card out of her holder, turned it over and scrawled her cell number on the back. She handed it over, ignoring the warning bells ringing along the back of her neck. "If you ever need to talk to me outside of office hours, call me, okay? Otherwise we have to keep it to our scheduled appointments."

He took the card, reading the back and then looking at her with some confusion.

"Yeah, it's against the rules, but I'm worried about you."

He disappeared the card in to a pocket, standing there, waiting for something else to happen, or so it seemed.

She crossed the room, opened the door, and led him out by the arm. "Go be with your family," she instructed, nodded to his chaperone.

The guy honestly looked scared that some big-hep important private shit might have been shared. She just gave him a nod. "It's a shame about his daughter," she said carefully. "But whatever led up to it isn't my business." Basically telling this watcher that Tig hadn't spilled any club beans in her office.

The man nodded, not quite believing her. "Now go," she instructed Tig, and honestly he looked relieved that someone was telling him what to do. They left without another word, leaving a silence that even Teresa knew to be respectful of.

Valerie leaned back against the doorframe, exhaling. Teresa almost whispered, "Are you okay? Is everything all right?"

Valerie waved her off with one hand. "I'm fine. Just … I need a minute, okay?"

Teresa nodded, returning to her desk while Valerie shut the door, sat on the sofa, and stared numbly out the window at the sunny day outside.


	4. Chapter 4

Two sleepless nights later Valerie was finishing her supper and watching a rerun of _Community_. She had the next day to herself and was enjoying a glass of red wine when her phone rang.

She grabbed it without really looking to see who was calling. "Hello?"

"Val – ummm, Doc?"

She gripped the phone tighter. That gravelly voice was one of a kind. "Mister Tra – Tig?"

He chuckled, and it made her smile. "Listen. I … I need to talk."

She nodded, then realized he couldn't see it. "Okay. I'm not taking patients tomorrow but -"

"I … I uh, need to talk to you before then."

"Before _tomorrow_?" She checked the clock on the stove. "It's kind of late."

"I'm going inside tomorrow."

She frowned. "What for?"

There was a pause. "You know what I mean by that?"

"That means jail, right?"

"Yeah."

"What for?"

"It … doesn't matter. Can I see you?"

Valerie closed her eyes. _This is so … wrong. _

"Doc?"

"Fine," she shook herself. "I live at the office, the other side facing Willow Crescent."

"Really? That's where you live?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. It's a corner lot. Kind of looks like two houses. I keep the entrances separate." Stop talking, you sound nervous.

Because she was.

"I'll be right over." He hung up without another word.

She tucked the dirty dishes in to the washer and returned to her bedroom. Braless in a T-shirt and pyjama pants was not the way to meet a patient, even if she was operating outside the realm of what's acceptable and what's not.

She pulled on jeans, underwear and a tank top. Not sure why, she also checked out her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She put on blush and mascara. Clearly she was losing her mind.

Valerie returned to the kitchen and finished her glass of wine, because that could only make her smarter. She made sure to hide that glass in the top rack of the dishwasher. She tried to sit and watch more TV but not even the adorable Joel McHale was holding her interest.

When the loud rumble of a motorcycle engine grew ever louder on her street, her heart sped. Her hands began to sweat.

Shit, she'd really invited him to her home.

The knock was quiet but she jumped anyway, got to her feet and answered . He had the screen door open, so they stood there, each holding a door. Valerie had a hand in her back pocket, his was on his belt buckle. He was back to looking at her with blatant sexuality and she wondered if the PJs weren't a better idea.

She cleared her throat. "Well, come in."

He stepped past her, eyes sliding across her chest as he did so. Valerie's pulse flitted, and she tried to rationalize the reaction as fear because there was no way she could be attracted to him.

When he was standing in the middle of her living room she realized just how bad an idea this had been. He was in her private space, and it was … far too familiar. Too intimate.

When he turned to look at her, Valerie's fears were confirmed.

Dammit. She _did _like him.

"Nice place, Doc," he drawled, taking a spot on the sofa, a foot on a stool. He looked too comfortable in her home, sprawled out as he was.

"Can I offer you a beer?"

He chewed his lip, eyes crawling over her again. Where was the guy that had been weeping uncontrollably in her office? He had none of this aggression. She was missing that guy.

"A beer?" She repeated, crossing her arms.

Yeah, his eyes had been on her breasts. The arm-crossing brought his attention back to her face. "Sure. Thanks."

She crossed in front of him to reach the kitchen, retrieving two bottles from the fridge. When she got back to the living room he was holding a framed picture that had been on her end table. As she held a bottle out he turned the photo around for her to see. "Who's he?"

She knew what the photo was. Her half-brother and her, the Grand Canyon behind them, each of them leaning forward over the handle bars of their bikes to share a high-five.

"That's Peter," she said simply and he took the beer. "My half-brother."

His face changed. He had been … jealous? Maybe for a half-second?

"Does he live here?"

She sat on an older arm chair, out of reach. "We grew up in Oakland, he's still there."

He nodded, taking a swig of beer and putting the photo back. "You ride?"

She nodded, then kept conversation going. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

He took a deep breath. "I wanted … I wanted to thank you. For the other day."

She frowned. "You had to come by and tell me that?"

Blue eyes turned to her, completely serious. "Yeah, I did."

"And what happens now?"

He broke eye contact, attention back on the beer. "Going to jail tomorrow. On details you don't want to know about."

"I _can't _know that stuff. You know this."

He was staring at her, beer resting on his leg, forgotten.

"What?" she asked, nervously fidgeting with her hair.

"I'm having the weirdest thoughts right now," he mumbled, or something similar.

There was warmth in her chest, and she had to look away in case he caught her blushing. "That makes me nervous. What constitutes a _weird_ thought for you?"

His jaw thrust forward. "Just … wishing I had a nice memory to take with me tomorrow."

Valerie met his eyes. "Like … like what?"

Tig put the beer back on the coffee table and got to his feet, not breaking eye contact. It made her sit up, ready to bolt if she had to. He stood in front of her, took the beer from her and put it on the coffee table as well.

"Stand up," he said.

Valerie swallowed hard, then did as asked. He didn't move back to give her room. He was back to appearing too big, dark, and scary for her cheerful furniture. It seemed ridiculous that he was here.

"Don't intimidate me," she said, proud of how even her voice was.

When his hand came up she didn't flinch. She was focusing on his face, unsure of what he was thinking. There was no rage, no psychotic grin or any other form of intimidation. He was studying her, head tilted in contemplation. _He is going to kiss me, _she realized with no small measure of shock. When he touched the side of her throat she had to breathe through her mouth. It was surprising for some reason that his hand was warm. His fingertips tickled the back of her neck. Valerie let her eyes slide closed.

When he kissed her it was slow, languid. So unlike anything she would have expected from him. He really just brushed his lower lip upwards across hers. It brought goose bumps to her arms, tingles to the back of her neck. She didn't want to move, she wanted more.

Valerie's eyes flickered open, and his face was just fractions of an inch away. The hard lines of his face weren't scary this close; they defined purpose. And his entire face was telling her how badly he wanted her.

Some semblance of reason flashed through then, reminding her that even though all the circumstances of their relationship were already pretty screwed up by everyday standards, he was also a patient. She had taken him on for counselling. This was worse than wrong … it was _unethical _besides.

"Tig," she began, voice raspy and quieter than she'd intended.

He cut her off with his mouth, closing over hers roughly. His hand had stayed on her neck, now the other wound around her lower back, pulling her to him completely. She had no time to react, other than grasping onto his arms.

This is how she'd expected kissing him to be; powerful, forceful, and raw enough to wipe any rational thoughts from her mind. He didn't need to paw at her through her clothes; his tongue in her mouth was promising her entire body a hell of a ride. Valerie felt her cheeks colouring as her temperature rose, and when he grasped her hair to angle her head to the side she was already on board, opening her mouth fully to accept him. She wound her arms around his shoulders, and he curved inward, almost sheltering her even as his hand slid lower, cupping her ass cheek.

He handled her roughly, a growl issuing from his throat that shouldn't have been as attractive as it was. His hands brought her hips fully against him, and as she was aware of his belt buckle against her stomach she became aware of something else pressing in to her abdomen.

It brought her back to her senses, and she parted her mouth from his with a gasp. He looked down with a wry grin as she stepped back, cold air rushing between them again.

"Great Doc," he muttered. "You cured me just in time to go to prison."

A laugh came through, then she covered her face with both hands. "I … I'm sorry. I can't … this is wrong."

"Don't worry. I'm going."

He circled around her, and she followed, slightly confused. "Tig – it's not you. I can't do this with a patient."

"It's okay, Doc. Trust me." He yanked the front door open, pausing in the frame. "You're … you're one of the good people, aren't you?"

She shook her head. "Not after that. I mean it. I could … I could lose my license because of things like that. If you still want me as a counsellor that can_not _happen again. I am so sorry."

His jaw set, his face went back to "lock down" mode. "You don't have to be sorry. I am."

The screen door banged shut behind him, and Valerie was frozen in place, still somewhat gasping for air but her stomach sinking with something that felt a lot like regret.

Her brain was scrambled with hormones and ethics. She should hand him off to someone else. After this, it was inappropriate for her to continue meeting with him.

Assuming he came out of prison not entirely pissed at her. Or remembering her at all.


	5. Chapter 5

As Valerie's last patient for the day left she sat in her arm chair, rubbing her temples. A long day on top of a restless night, and she had been distracted throughout And not for the reasons she _should _have been distracted, like her lapse in ethics.

She was distracted by the memory of the smell of leather, hot dry hands on her body, and a tongue working her mouth in the way she'd always wanted to be kissed.

Damn. Damn damn damn.

The bell over the door in reception tinkled, and she let her head roll to the side to see what she could through the doorway.

"I'm sorry, we're just about to close for the day," she heard Teresa saying. "Would you like to book an appointment?"

"No, I don't want to book a fucking appointment."

That brought Valerie to her feet, back bristling. The voice was sharp and loud; it still would have been rude if the profanity had been left out. No one had any right to talk to Teresa that way.

Valerie arrived in the doorway as the woman at the desk turned her way. She was tall, in control, and authoritative in a scary, biker-bitch kind of way. Her legs were long in jeans and heels, a leather jacket on over something black and low-cut, showing some world-class cleavage highlighted by a heavy necklace. Her face was set and stern; she took no shit from anyone.

Valerie felt her back straighten. She'd dealt with women like this most of her younger life. You had to stand your ground with this kind.

"Is there something I can help you with?"

The woman had her hand propped on her hip, jaw to the side, sizing Valerie up and not hiding it in the least. Valerie just raised her eyebrows, inviting the woman to answer.

"You're the _doctor_?" The last word was spat with disdain.

"I'm Doctor Turner, yes."

"You're the one treating Tig?" Her voice was incredulous.

"I'm sorry, what is this in reference too?"

The woman threw her head back and laughed. "Holy shit! Now it all makes sense."

"What brings you here, Missus ..?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Missus Morrow, if you must know. I'm here to settle up Tig's account, he wanted to make sure that uh, you were _paid_."

Valerie raised her chin. "So he's inside then?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Went in this morning."

Valerie fought the urge to ask if this tall serving of mean and scary thought Tig was going be okay.

The woman tossed an envelope on to Teresa's desk. "It's all there. You can count it if you want."

"That won't be necessary," Valerie answered, noting that Teresa's eyes were darting back and forth between them frantically.

The woman took slow, deliberate strides across the tiled floor, her heels loud. She levelled her eyes right at Valerie, arms crossed, and Valerie refused to move backwards, even though she wanted to.

"Not going to lie," the woman growled. "I don't like you. I don't like outsiders knowing about our secrets. I don't like outsiders hearing and advising what my boys do. These are all my _Sons_, if you feel me. We take care of our own."

Valerie took a half-step closer now. "Everything discussed here is strictly personal, pertaining to Mister Trager only. The only thing I know for sure is I don't want to know anything about your Sons."

She shook her head. "Still don't like it."

"Have you discussed this with_ him_?"

"Yeah, and he mentioned that you seem to know an awful lot about how things work in our little world. Why would that be?"

Valerie shrugged. "Life is full of mysteries."

She stepped closer. Jesus she was a piece of work. She had the cold-bitch stare down to an art. Valerie felt outgunned suddenly. "Still don't like it, honey."

Valerie took a deep breath. "Well, this Son came to _me_. There weren't any strange bitches wandering around pissing on your territory. So please watch how you talk to my staff _and _me."

The jaw slid sideways again as this woman's large brown eyes took her expression in, and Valerie didn't so much as blink.

A small smile touched her lips, and her head tilted. "Well, how about you. Little tougher than I was expecting."

Valerie had no answer. Missus Morrow just gave a slight nod then turned on one heel and left the lobby, sliding on sunglasses as she went.

Valerie exhaled then, and had to laugh at Teresa's expression. "Are you okay?"

Teresa shook her head. "What the hell was that?"

Valerie shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I think that might be the queen."

"The queen?"

"Every motorcycle club's got one old lady that's the head bitch in charge. That one looks like she invented it."

Teresa nodded. "Her name's Gemma Morrow. I think she was married to the original president or whatever." Then she waved her hands, still nervous. "I don't know. I stay away from those people. They all terrify me."

"You're not afraid of Alexander Trager, are you?"

Teresa swallowed before answering. "He freaks me out. He looks at me like he's trying to imagine what I'd look like with my skin inside out."

"If you're not comfortable around any clients, let me know, Teresa. You don't have to deal with them if you don't want to."

Teresa looked at her, gobsmacked. "And leave you here _alone _with him? No offense, but maybe _you _need therapy."

Valerie wasn't surprised by that at all; it was the very thought she'd been having all day.

_Little tougher than I was expecting. _Gemma's quote came back and Valerie just nodded her appreciation to Teresa. She closed herself back in to her office and tried to not see the similarities between this force of nature named Gemma and her own mother and _couldn't._

After bouncing around the mid-west for years Valerie finally settled in a town that looked small, quiet and quaint. It was called _Charming _for fuck's sake. A place where old lives couldn't possibly touch her.

She'd been so wrong on that count. The second the loud rumble of a bike had sounded outside the very first day she's been unpacking she was drawn to the window out of an aching, familiar curiosity.

Of course, outside influences had _removed _her from the life when she was twelve but some things can be rooted too deep to ignore. Her earliest memories had consisted of her parents' friends; all large, scary-looking biker types of one club or another, milling around the house during barbecues and bonfires. It was always a big meal and lots of beer, whether they were celebrating newborns or marriage vows or someone getting out of prison.

Every single one of them had instantly been a trusted member of the family. She had honestly thought she _was _related to all of them, up until about age eight. She saw everyone in the club as either an aunt, uncle or cousin.

Another first memory: riding on the back of her father's bike on the weekends, never once afraid he'd let her get hurt. She remembered that more vividly than the first day she'd gone without training wheels on her bicycle. The one memento of her old life she still carted around with her everywhere she went was her father's 1973 Harley Davidson Sportster. Nothing fancy to it; a simple black paint job, chrome showing signs of age, but it still ran like a top. When she rode it took all she had not to burst in to tears.

She closed her eyes and dug her nails in to her hands to send memory lane to the back of her mind where it belonged. While some people have the option of getting out of the life, she never did. She was thrown out of it; her, her mother, father and sister. It was her first and only memory of true terror.

Knowing _now _what had brought it around helped a lot. It had nothing to do with her nor was it her parents' fault. Her father had tried to save her mother from some truly bad people, whisking her away to Oregon just months after meeting her. Valerie had already made her presence known by the time they were married and settled down. Her father joined a club and worked as a mechanic. Her mother kept a happy home for the brood, defending their familial extensions with fierceness not rivalled by anyone Valerie had met … until just now.

Back then, in the past that Valerie was struggling through still, no one changed their names: all the bad people her mother had known in Russia were too far away to hurt them. But as it turned out their reach had been far and wide, and Valerie's family had suffered greatly despite her mother's moxie and her father's dedication.

They'd suffered _so_ greatly that Valerie was the only one left.

Now Valerie drew a shuddering breath, snapping back to the present. Falling in to a level of comfort around criminals was too big a risk to take. It was a good thing Gemma Morrow had stopped by and reminded her of that fact. She still carried scars from men in _the life_ had seen fit to give her back when she was twelve, and the scars weren't all visible, either. It had taken years for her to let people get close, and even _then _not everyone knew why the nearly-white lines crossing her back and abdomen were there. It doesn't do much for "the mood" when you try to explain you'd been left for dead at the hands of your mother's mafia relations.

No, cozying up to any part of a club was a grand mistake; she couldn't trust any club not to have ties with the very people who had turned her and her family over to the enemy. Her real name had to stay a secret for good.

She had to admit that one of her biggest fantasies at the moment was going back in time while knowing Tig Trager the very moment her own personal tragedy happened. Letting him know about what had been done and sic'ing him on every one of those bastards. And that thought was enough to furhter induce guilt: using people for violent revenge was no better than using them for money, really.

Besides, Valerie really had nothing to fear from that chapter of her past. She'd gotten her own revenge when she was sixteen. And she hadn't asked for anyone's help then, either.

She'd spent years making sure she'd always be able to take care of herself.


	6. Chapter 6

Days rolled by, each one getting more and more "normal" to the existence she'd selected for herself. Valerie treated patients then spent her evenings doing whatever she wanted, almost like a regular person. Almost.

The fact that she felt sympathy for someone she knew very well as a killer was one clue she had to stop counselling Tig Trager. The other clue was the fact that she had let him in to her home. She was _not _allowed to have tender feelings for patients. Especially _these _feelings for this particular person.

It was bringing up too much shit for her.

She'd spent some time looking in to his past, to her own embarrassment. What she found there wasn't thrilling and it wasn't the stuff of teenage _Rebel Without A Cause_ crushes. It was a long list of tragedies, as far as she could see, starting with a girlfriend who died long before all the illegal activity caught up with him. She didn't need to be a therapist to see that the loss of her could have easily started the self-destructive behaviour.

With his absence her mind was able to clear somewhat. Her moment of insanity that had resulted in Tig Trager kissing her in her living room faded to a hazy recollection. At least, in her _waking _hours. Unfortunately when she slept her subconscious had a way of kicking it back up again.

But that was not her fault.

Saturday morning started bright and sunny. Valerie carried a book and her coffee out to her back porch to read for a while, enjoying the normal life of a summer morning. She could hear birds and lawn mowers, not much else. Perfect.

She got swept up in Nick Carraway's narrative about his strange relationship with Jay Gatsby, so much so that it took a loud knock on her fence to bring her head up. The gate was open, but Gemma Morrow had stayed in place, watching her.

Valerie had a moment of wanting to groan _What now_ but she managed a thin smile instead. "Missus Morrow. What a pleasant surprise."

Gemma removed her sunglasses, giving her a _cut the bullshit _look as she let the gate fall shut behind her. Valerie stood for courtesy as well as self-defense.

"Please, have a seat. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Gemma walked on heels like a pro across the paving stone walkway to the porch, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs that faced out over the yard, right across from Valerie. She waved one hand, dropping her large purse to the deck next to her.

"No, not necessary. But thanks." She was being polite, even though it clearly pained her.

Valerie tucked her bookmark in to place and set the book down next to her. "What brings you by my home?"

"We're … we're having a funeral tomorrow. And I think you should be there."

The world literally tilted for a moment; Valerie felt like she could have fallen out of her chair. "Was it … who's the funeral for?"

Gemma examined her shrewdly. "Sweetheart, you can relax. It's not for Tig."

She shouldn't have felt relief, but she did.

"It's another Son. He got killed in lock-up."

Valerie frowned. She didn't dare ask why, but it must have shown on her face.

Gemma saw it. "Not all club business gets explained to the old ladies, even if your son _is_ the president. But Opie was my son's friend. He went inside to keep Jax safe. He didn't even have to be there. He wasn't involved in what happened."

Valerie felt her stomach sink. After seeing the wreckage from the death of his daughter, losing a brother on top of that must be absolutely killing him -

"I'm worried about him too," Gemma said softly, pointing at her own face when Valerie frowned. "I can read it all over your face. But, they're all out now. Too late to save Opie. But they were released."

"Well … thank you for letting me know."

"I'm kind of hoping you might come."

Now she was _really _frowning. "Come? To the funeral?"

"Yeah."

Valerie exhaled. "I don't know -"

"He's not going to come to _you_. I don't know how it's supposed to work with therapists or whatever, but he isn't going to come here and just break down."

Valerie bit her lip at that.

"If you're helping him, I would really … appreciate it if you could be there. Just so he sees you and … I don't know. Jesus Christ. I don't even really know what I'm asking here."

"I'm really not supposed to get involved that way."

Gemma rose to her full height. "Fine. Don't come. But it's tomorrow night at eight, in case you change your mind."

She started to leave, and Valerie somewhat followed her to the edge of the deck. "It's not that I don't care -" she began.

Gemma cut her off. "It's at the club. Eight o'clock. Tomorrow."

The older woman let herself out of the yard without another backward glance. The gate banged shut behind her.

As she continued on with her Saturday duties she bounced back and forth between deciding _not _to attend and being resolved that she _had _to be there. She talked herself in and out of it repeatedly to the point where her stomach ached from indecision.

She did housework, hoping it would help her make up her mind. It didn't. She wasn't even sure she could eat supper.

"This is stupid," she muttered to herself, alone in her kitchen that evening. "Just make a decision. Not going doesn't mean you're a heartless bitch."

So there it was. She couldn't go. She didn't know this man. They might not even let her in. And showing up would just be an infringement on her patient's privacy. Almost in the realm of being a stalker, really.

She couldn't and wouldn't go. There. Decided.

Valerie managed to eat a salad for supper. Her stomach felt better.

She self-medicated further with more red wine and a couple of chick flick movies on cable. By midnight she was ready to sleep and was turning off the lamps in the living room before heading upstairs.

The knock came and froze her in place, but she already knew before she opened the front door what she would find.

The second he saw her, Tig's face crumpled and he covered it with both hands. Not a word said, she led him by the elbow in to her small foyer, shutting the door behind him.

She turned him to face her, hands on his elbows. His crying was silent. She gave him a moment but he couldn't get a single syllable out.

"I know," she said as he brought his hands down, his red eyes tearing at a heartstring or two. "I heard. I'm sorry."

He couldn't look at her, so she just pulled him in close and he dropped his arms down around her shoulders. She pressed her cheek to his chest, arms around his waist, tight. It was an incredibly intimate way to comfort someone but she couldn't let him go.

"I don't know why I'm turning in to such a fucking pussy," he muttered low.

"You can hardly think this is an overreaction," she said, half in to his shirt. "Between your friend and your daughter this is likely the most normal response you've had to anything in quite a while."

"I caused all this shit." She didn't respond, and his shaking worsened as he sobbed even harder. "Oh God, I did. I caused all of it."

She closed her eyes, not wanting to get sucked in to any emotional transference. Not wanting him to give any sordid details but dying to know all the same. His pain was so evident she felt her eyes dampen slightly.

"Have you ever had such a … _need_ to go back in time and take something back?"

She did. She wished she was twelve, and she wished she'd learned how to use a shotgun back then. She might have been able to save her family.

"Yeah, I know that feeling."

His arms tightened. "It chokes me. I can't … I can't fucking breathe from it." He was starting to hyperventilate.

"Okay, just close your eyes and concentrate on my breathing. Can you feel me breathing?"

"Yes."

"Breathe with me. Slow. Calm."

"Christ - "

"No, shhh. Just breathe right now."

She stayed right where she was, listening as he struggled to calm down. She didn't loosen her hold. Eventually his shaking stopped, and he was still again. Crying, but calmer.

He was stroking her hair, his face buried in the top of her head. She wasn't sure when that had happened, but it troubled her that she liked it. Even though all she was giving him was comfort she felt somehow _closer _than a lover at that moment. Her eyes closed at the thought, but that didn't help. She could only smell _him_, and it was too distracting.

She moved her head away, and he let go of her completely, wiping his eyes and sniffing, still not meeting her gaze.

"You're not the nasty piece of work you want people to think you are," she said softly, taking his face between her hands and making him look at her. "You're not an inherently bad person."

"None of this would have been there if it hadn't been for me."

"I don't want to know details. And you know you can't tell me what this has to do with you. It's against the rules."

His brows furrowed again and his face gave way to more crying. That's when she knew he'd seen the death happen, and he knew exactly _why _it had happened. It wasn't an accident.

She hugged him again, and he pressed his face in to the crook of her neck and shoulder this time. Valerie winced at the horrible sounds he made as he cried.

"Come and sit," she said, taking him by the hand and leading him in to the living room. She turned one lamp on, settling on to the end of the sofa nearest the light.

Without hesitation he sat next to her, stretching out with his head in her lap. His arms came around her waist and she was pinned. While he wept she stroked his temple, running her hands in to his hair slightly. When he calmed it was to fall asleep, and she wasn't sure when it happened. She tried to cradle his head and stand up but his grip around her waist tightened and she knew she wasn't going anywhere.

She didn't want to.


	7. Chapter 7

When she woke up she was curled on her side on the sofa, covered with the afghan from her armchair. She was disoriented for a moment, like her current events clock had a dead battery. When she remembered the evening before she felt a moment of rising panic, but everything in her house seemed normal. Her clothes were not askew. The only thing different was the smell of coffee.

She futzed with her hair as she made her way to the kitchen, covering her mouth as the first yawn hit. No part of her believed he would still be here. He must have left while she slept.

A fresh pot of coffee was sitting at the ready. An empty cup sat next to it.

Valerie frowned, poured a cup, then carried it with her around her main floor. There was no one in her house but her. Returning to the kitchen she was truly puzzled until she glanced out the kitchen window to the patio.

Tig Trager was on her patio in his dark clothes, wearing sunglasses against the morning glare, feet bare, smoking something in one hand and holding a cup of coffee in the other.

It was such a surreal moment she had to remember the fact that he'd cried until he fell asleep the night before. It further reminded her that she in no way could predict anything that this man would say or do. In all avenues surprises would be a guarantee.

Valerie slid the patio door open and stepped on to the warming floorboards of the deck, feeling the heat already rising despite the early hour. At the sound Tig's head turned to her, but without really acknowledging her he looked away again, head back against the wall.

She sat in the other chair angled toward the one he slouched in. Her coffee was cradled to her chest, and she pulled her feet up to the edge of the seat. "Good morning," she offered.

"Morning."

After a pause, "Thanks for the coffee."

"Your water, your coffee."

Cold. Dismissive. Even though he'd wept on her shoulder and fell asleep on her sofa. Valerie sighed. Great, now the big male ego was bruised. So why the hell had he even stuck around?

"I almost think you're pissed off at me."

That brought his head around. "Sweetheart, this isn't pissed off."

Great, they were back to the same stand-offish bravado from their first couple of sessions. "All right then. What _is_ this?"

No response, back to staring out at the yard. And with the sunglasses on she couldn't even tell what he was looking at.

"It's really quiet here," he finally said, tone a lot lower and less forced. "It's really fucking quiet."

It was Sunday morning. She didn't point that out, just sipped her coffee.

"It's so quiet I find myself thinking. And that's pretty fucking distressing."

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Nothing. It's not like you're on the clock right now."

She nodded, clenching her jaw. "So you stuck around to sit on my porch and think?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I did."

Valerie's next point was likely going to totally set him off, but she couldn't leave it unsaid. "If I'm going to continue as your therapist, the boundaries have to be strict. Personal feeling between patient and therapist don't help at all. No matter who has feelings for … whom."

"So are you saying you have a crush on me, Doc?"

She had to close her eyes and rub her forehead.

"Because if you do, I gotta warn you it's likely a bad idea. Not that I'm not _flattered_ but -"

"What I mean is this; we can't be friends. I know you're going through many personal issues right now, but by letting you in here last night and before … I broke rules. I did something I shouldn't have. I set that precedent. That's my fault. But if you want me as your therapist -"

"What if I don't?"

She looked up, surprised. He was looking at her, taking a drag on what was _not _a cigarette while studying her from behind those dark lenses. She knew he was because she could feel it. Illogically she wondered how terrible her hair looked.

"You can stop coming in, cancel your appointments. Or ask me to recommend another therapist." She was in shock, she could tell by her own tone.

He looked away again. "Maybe I should do that."

Valerie was stunned mute. To cover, she drank more coffee.

"Do you know anyone? To recommend?"

"Yeah. There's a psychiatrist that knows more about unresolved grief issues than me, but he's in Lodi. I could see if he's accepting new patients."

"Psychiatrist? That's the majors compared to a psychologist, isn't it?"

She just stared at him, stunned. "Tig, YOU are the majors compared to what I usually deal with. Your libido isn't even scratching the surface of …" she let it trail, not sure where she could have gone from there.

"… of what's wrong with me?" He supplied. She didn't reply but he nodded anyway. "I know I have my own fucked-uppedness. It's what makes me special. I also know I make you uncomfortable." She opened her mouth to argue but he pointed at her with the joint. "No, I do. I know I do. But you've been very nice and very kind and I'm taking advantage of that. Because talking to you makes me … I don't fucking know. It makes me feel better. So maybe all I really need is just a friend to say this shit to. But I can't say it to my _friends _because they're in the club and …"

Valerie bit her lip. And waited.

"Everything here is … quiet. And clean. And … I think I almost trust you more than anyone else."

She let the silence linger. Then she opened up herself. "I looked in to your past a little bit. I know about your girlfriend - the one that died. I'm sorry I did that but … I knew there had to be things you weren't telling me."

His jaw clenched. "It's public record, Doc."

She looked down in to her cup. "If you weren't able to get over that death and deal with your grief, it could explain a lot of your present issues. Not the least of which was the death of your daughter."

"It wasn't just her," he muttered, taking off his sunglasses. He looped them over his knee, wincing in the sunshine. He transferred the coffee to his smoking hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was Opie's wife that started all of this up again."

"Opie … that's the man that died in jail?"

"Yeah."

She was back to waiting.

"I killed his wife. Now he's dead, too. And he had two kids."

He was a wellspring of devastation. Every revelation was horrible. Valerie squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the expression on his face right then. Resolved, accepting, and hating himself all at once.

"I … I don't want to know this stuff."

He raised his face, eyes just starting to water again. She really couldn't take tough-guy crying. It made her want to fall apart, too. "I did it. I caused it. The details don't matter for shit. And since then everything's just … haunting me."

"Were you aware this could have been the root of your problems when you came to see me at first?" She was tripping over her words. Not a good sign.

"I knew it bothered me. Until it started affecting my mood around my brothers, I had no idea. But talking to you and what you said about trust and intimacy … yeah, I can remember what that was like. And Opie was one of the good guys. I took something from him that was so important. I don't deserve any kind of closeness. Or trust. I need to just be left alone."

"I don't know if eternal punishment is going to help."

"It's what I deserve," he insisted. "The club will make sure those kids are okay, that's true. But what's that compared to two parents?" His voice faltered now. "My girls never had their father. Just a mother that was a real … well. She was the mother of my kids, I'll leave it at that."

"There's still time to make things better," she insisted softly. "It's never too late for change."

He made a dismissive sound, wiping his eyes roughly. "Doc, you mean well but you have no idea what this life really is. You're in or you're out, and if you're out you better be in a box."

Valerie was biting her lip a second time. She _did _know that, and she also knew that her father trying to step away was what got most of her family wiped out. Shit, he was right.

"Is this the kind of thing you should be telling me?" She asked carefully.

He shrugged. "Probably not. But how do I tell you _all _the fucked up shit I've done without the other stuff?"

"You can't tell me these things. It's betrayal to the club."

He frowned. "What?"

"You're a life-long member, you're in all the way. And … it's not something that can be taken away from you. Whoever you end up talking to, me or my colleague, don't say anything you shouldn't. For my own good if nothing else. I hate to ask this with all you've gone through but -"

"Are you out of your mind?" He sat up, somehow incredibly intimidating despite the fact he didn't even have shoes on. "You think I'm going to let something happen to you?"

"It won't be up to you, Tig,"she said sternly, meeting that _tone _with plenty of attitude of her own.

He stood, storming back through the patio door. She just stayed where she was as she listened to the front door slam shut, then the sound of a bike taking off from in front of her house; far too loud for this neighbourhood on a Sunday morning.


	8. Chapter 8

The Teller-Morrow garage was lit up after hours. Valerie parked on the street in front, sitting behind the wheel and still internally arguing over whether or not she should be there. God knows Tig hadn't stormed out of her place because he was particularly happy with her. But she also wanted to make sure Tig was okay.

Her, Valerie Turner. Protecting Tig Trager.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes just as there was a tap on her window. She jumped, then saw there was someone standing next to her car. She rolled down her window, and a man leaned down to peer at her with shrewd dark eyes. He had some unfortunate facial scars, and as he spoke she fought to understand him. He was dressed like a Son but the Scottish brogue threw her for a loop.

"Sorry ma'am but we're closed for the day. You can call for an appointment tomorrow morning if you like."

She smiled. "Sorry. I'm … I'm here for the memorial."

He didn't look surprised. She jumped when he opened the door.

"Well then, come with me." He held a hand out for her, and though she found this acceptance strange she couldn't refuse the offer.

With his unneeded help she climbed from the car, and he closed the door behind her. "Just this way," he said, hand out while leading her. She followed, not sure he wasn't making fun of her.

The lot was crowded with cars, bikes and a hearse. People were milling about in groups, most in leather kuttes denoting them as club members.

Valerie saw she was overdressed. Black dress pants and a short-sleeved shirt; she'd been worried she was too casual. Looking around you'd think it was a house party not a memorial. Jeans, vests, and not a lot of anything on some of the women.

This stranger caught her eyeballing the crowd. With a wry smile he just said, "There's no need to be uncomfortable. Now who are you here for, dear?"

She took a deep breath then smiled in appreciation for his kindness. "Tig. I'm here to see Tig."

He stopped. "Tig?"

"Yeah. I'm … I'm a friend."

The man was clearly still surprised, but he recovered and offered a hand. "Call me Chibbs."

"I'm Valerie." She shook his offered hand, then he turned for a building off the main entrance to the lot.

"Tig's in the clubhouse. This way."

She stepped in to the darkness, her eyes trying to adjust to how dim it was inside. The smell was familiar to anyone who'd ever visited a bar in a hole-in-the-wall-town with questionable cleanliness standards. Even more people were packed in here, taking up space.

She likely looked completely out of place, but a calm came over her suddenly. This was just like … _home_. Valerie blinked against memories of childhood, not wanting to relive all that around these people she didn't even know.

"Tig – 'ya got company." Her new Scottish friend announced loudly over the music.

Valerie saw him before he turned around, perched on a bar stool, back to the room, elbows cordoning himself off from everyone else. He turned around, surly before the mask slipped just a bit and he looked maybe a little pleased. Then the old expression of permanent disenchantment slid back into place and he turned back around to the bar.

Chibbs looked at her, eyebrows raised. "You sure you're a friend?"

She smiled at him. "Not really. But I wanted to see him."

He shrugged. "All right. Good luck." Then he was gone.

She approached like someone might approach a wild animal; careful but loudly so as not to startle. She threw out a casual "Hey" before sitting down next to him.

He had a full shot glass in front of him. He didn't look at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I had no right to imply you weren't careful when we talked. Or that you were careless enough to do anything that might get me hurt."

He just nodded, eyes still down.

"I'll ask that friend of mine to take you on. I think he'll do a better job than me. He's a nice guy. So I'm going to ask you to be nicer to him than you are to me." Her lame attempt at a joke.

Still no answer.

"And I'm so sorry about your friend." She glanced around the room. "I can tell he was loved. There are a lot of people here. So … yeah. I'm just sorry."

Silence.

She got to her feet. "That's all I wanted to say. I'll go."

He grabbed her arm, not roughly, just firmly enough that a rush of heat raced through her and her breath caught. "You don't have to go. Just … just sit with me."

Valerie sat back down, facing him, elbow on the bar beside her. "You're clearly pissed. You don't want me here."

"That's not it. I'm glad you're here." He levelled those eyes at her, suddenly not as cold as usual. Maybe it was from the alcohol. "It's nice to see you."

Eye contact. Too long to be normal, but she wasn't uncomfortable. This was him thanking her for caring, or something. She wasn't sure but … it wasn't scary, either. "I was worried about you," she said softly, and he nodded.

"I know. That's why I left like I did. You're right. You don't need to get involved in any of my shit."

She gave a half-smile. "You keep bringing it to me, Tig."

"Yeah, I know I do." He was smiling too, and like that everything was different. She couldn't say or do anything that was too inappropriate to him, and he likely would try to do the same to her but fail. And all that was left was … a friendship? Maybe.

"Have a drink with me," he said, raising a hand. A younger man with a pretty wicked handlebar mustache came as beckoned, bottle ready. "She'll have what I'm having."

Valerie was about to protest but they were both looking at her with doubt. A first test to run with their crew in whatever manner she meant to. She shook her head. "Fine. Jack it is."

Tig's smile broadened as he got rid of the shot he'd been studying then allowed the glass to be filled once more. They clinked glasses before downing the JD, and Valerie felt tears rise immediately. She really did prefer wine, but that likely wasn't on offer here.

"I hate this shit," she said, covering her mouth and waiting to cough.

He laughed then, and she was glad to hear it. "One more and you'll love it."

She just shook her head as he ordered her glass filled again. "No really, I can't hold alcohol that well."

"Perfect," he said, throwing that unnerving smile at her that could either mean he wanted to jump your bones or wear your skin as a mask.

"I shouldn't stay long," she insisted and he picked up the glass, handing it to her.

"Just this one. Then I'll introduce you to Opie." His voice was serious again, and he paused before tilting back the refill. She did the same with hers, then he got to his feet, holding out his hand.

Valerie stared at his outstretched palm for a couple seconds, then took his hand. It was like jumping off a cliff for some reason. He held her palm tightly to his and led the way through the press of people she didn't know, to the back of the main room and through a set of double doors. There was a long table in the centre of the room where the coffin was resting. She knew this was where the club must have conducted business, and even as a child she'd never been in _that _room of her father's club. It was almost like hallowed ground; she was returning to a world that was familiar, even though she'd lived in it before she'd been old enough to truly understand it and know that it wasn't normal.

She studied the young man in the box. And he _was_ young, that part made her flinch. Wide in the shoulders, long hair and a hell of a beard hiding what she guessed was somewhat of a youthful face.

When she looked up she realized Tig was studying her reaction. She had no idea what he saw. She was saddened by the loss of such a young life, and she was trying to be as respectful as she could.

His hand tightened around hers. "This is Opie," he said, voice cracking.

Valerie dropped her eyes to the deceased again. While Tig wept next to her, she just stared and felt a few of her own tears run down her cheeks.

When he let go of her hand it was to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. Tig Trager was a real hugger, she was realizing. But this time the hug felt like a comfort to her as well. Well, of course it was. She _was_ crying, wasn't she?

He was rubbing her back in soothing way. She was crushed to his chest again, inhaling that smell of man and leather and motor oil. They were the only two in this small room. It was surprisingly quiet; she could hear his heart beating.

"Doc?"

She moved back a bit, looking up at him. "Valerie," she corrected.

That brought his smile back. "Valerie. _Val_." He used an odd tone to make her laugh. Then he was serious again. "Thank you."

She nodded, and as he stared at her she had an insane moment hoping he was going to kiss her again, before remembering there a coffin next to them.

She stepped back, missing the warmth of him. But her took her hand again and led her from the room. He moved from group to group, introducing her to members of the club here and there as his "friend, Val."

No one knew what to make of her, and they had no idea what to think of the moniker of "friend," either. But they were polite, shaking her hand and offering a gracious head nod when she expressed her sorrow for their loss. The grizzly-haired one named Bobby still gave her the suspicious stink-eye but he was as polite at the rest. The president was a surprise; he looked far too young, but then again she thought she caught something about him being the son of the founding member of the club. These clubs were nothing if patriarchal.

Valerie would never have have prepared her for the widow, but then again she was used to feeling frumpy and unattractive most of the time anyway. This woman was drop-dead gorgeous, even as distraught as she was. She just nodded mutely as Valerie spoke her condolences, then excused herself.

When the time had come to remove the body, Tig had given her shoulder a squeeze then joined the rest of the club in the _chapel_, as they called it. She stayed to the back of the room, watching the progression with some fascination. She couldn't remember a funeral for any of her father's club members. She hadn't been at her own father's funeral, come to think of it.

The thought brought tears to her eyes, and she batted them away quickly, lowering her face then looking up again. One set of dark eyes caught her movement, and Valerie felt her skin shrink.

Gemma Morrow was watching her, her face far too curious and smart. Valerie was hoping she never made an enemy of that woman just as Gemma nodded, face softening. Thanking her for being there, Valerie supposed.

Valerie returned the nod, her blood cold nonetheless.


	9. Chapter 9

When she returned to her car the buzz from the Jack Daniels was long gone, but her hand was once again clasped against Tig's large, warm palm; quiet and comfortable. The entire evening was one of those surreal experiences; on the surface, not a big deal in the grand scheme of her life. But a line had been crossed on her end, that was for sure.

She studied the man walking next to her, his head down, other hand in his pocket casually. He looked content, actually, but in a reserved way.

He had no idea the stress rolling in her stomach. All the stuff from her past life was bubbling up, making her uneasy. She shouldn't find this comfortable, and she shouldn't feel as safe walking with the man next to her as she did. He was recklessly dangerous and fiercely loyal. She saw that for what it was now; likely his biggest flaw.

When she thought of him her stomach stilled. Her past life wasn't linking itself to him, she was just eased by him. She also had the nagging feeling that there was something she should be remembering right now.

Valerie unlocked the car with her key fob. She stopped next to the door, turning to him, still holding his hand.

"Thank you for coming," he said, blue eyes lifting to hers. They were impish again. It made her smile.

"Thank you for introducing me to everyone. They all seem like good people."

He shook his head. "They're not. But thanks."

She laughed, so did he. When he raised his other hand she jumped. Jesus, she wasn't comfortable after all; she was suddenly nervous.

His hand landed on the back of her shoulder, sliding down and pulling her closer. Valerie let go of his hand to put hers on his chest, keeping some distance.

"Wait," she said, aware of his hand on her lower back, his thumb absently rubbing across her spine. Something she should remember …

"What?"

She had no answer ready and he eased her closer. She was caught on those eyes, seemingly lazy and hooded but flaring with heat as she was pulled against him. He looked like a predator again, and she wasn't scared. It thrilled her.

"What is it, Valerie?"

Her name slid out of his mouth and caressed her. She swayed a bit, then he was kissing her and she didn't have anything resembling a coherent thought. With just his hands, mouth and tongue he was all over her without crowding her; just overwhelming in that fantastically erotic way touched with an edge of danger. None of it was too much. It was exactly what she wanted.

Valerie was clinging to his arms, even as he eased her back against the car. His hand gripped her ass, rough again, but nothing she didn't like. Apparently he liked it, too; his growl set off another shiver down her back.

When he parted his lips from hers she was panting. He still had her around the back, and he wasn't letting go without her making him do it somehow.

"Jesus," he whispered, "you smell amazing."

She just smiled, thinking how she'd noticed the same thing about him.

His hand slid to her hip, thumb tucking under her shirt, stroking at her bare skin –

She felt him touch her worst scar and jumped, even though it didn't hurt.

"What is that?"

She tried to push his hand away, but he was raising her shirt to see and uncovering the tattoo she had done to cover the jagged edges and puckered skin. It was a Celtic dragon, the scar forming the line of the dragon's spine, like a 3D topographical map.

"What is that? A tattoo?" His tone was teasing, and she pushed at him.

"What? _You _have tattoos."

"It's nice."

"Thanks." His hand flattened over it, warm and exhilarating.

"You are full of surprises, aren't you?"

His face lowered to her again, just that agonizing, dragging-lip touch that brought shivers all over her again.

He let go, and she stepped back against the car. She was breathing heavily and tried her best to hide it. "Well …" she breathed, blinking rapidly.

"Sorry if I … was too …"

"No, no. That was … that was nice."

His grin came back. "Nice?"

Now she was laughing. "I'm sorry. You caught me by surprise."

"You surprised me, too."

He reached behind her, pulling up on the door handle. The opening door corralled her against him again, and her cut off her giggle with another kiss, controlled, their bodies well separated, the kiss their only contact.

She broke this one, laughing again. "I should go home."

"Do you want company?"

She drew her breath in. She did. She would have said yes but her comfort level set her off again, a nifty built-in warning bell.

"I can't. I really … can't."

"Okay."

"I move slow, Tig. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine," he said, leaning on her door as she climbed in. "On you, I like it."

She looked up at him, fastening her seatbelt. "You can come and see me when you want – just not when I have a session going on, okay?"

He laughed at that. "Fair enough."

He shut the door for her and gave a small wave as she pulled away. She caught her partial reflection in the rear-view. Her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling. Like, really smiling, way too wide.

She made herself stop. Without his presence, she could concentrate. And worry about herself.

Yes, now she was able to remember what was so important.

Not having him as her patient still didn't make that okay. She would have to disclose all this to Malcolm Gregory if he agreed to take Trager on as a client. Never mind the fact that dating a patient was wrong … even if he wasn't her patient anymore. It was unethical. She could still lose her license.

She nearly ran through a red light as the realization hit her. This was really asking for trouble.

Fuck. She'd really led him on, hadn't she? And just now? Why had she let herself just_ react _like that without thinking it through?

She sat at the red light, head against the steering wheel, trying to slow down the panic she felt rising in her chest. She could tell Malcolm and trust that he wouldn't get her in trouble.

But … how can she tell Alex Trager all this?

That impulsiveness made her think of her mother. Her mother lacked the ability to slow down and think of the consequences of her actions. She mouthed off at people, confident that _someone_ would keep her from getting belted. There would always be the last-minute realization that went something along the lines of _Oh no, that was likely a bad idea._

It was that carelessness that made her run off with Valerie's father. The reason her mother's family came after them. And the Russians could be so terrible when it came to revenge.

Horns were honking and she realized the light was green. She continued on her way, heart all fluttery in a different way. She legitimately thought she was going to be sick.

When she arrived home she threw her keys at the key rack, missed, let them hit the ground and headed in to the kitchen. Under the sink she found a three-quarters full bottle of vodka. She poured a few inches in to a juice tumbler and downed it, noticing right away that her hand trembled.

So bad on so many levels. This was really going to hurt.


	10. Chapter 10

3:58. Valerie was sitting in her chair, tapping her pen on the arm of her chair, watching the clock and listening for the door. 4:00 was her appointment with Tig Trager she'd requested over the phone. She had never been so nervous in her entire life. She wasn't scared of him. She just had no idea what his reaction was going to be.

4:03. Late. Shouldn't be surprised, really. She'd called him somewhat at the last minute. He wasn't sure he would have been able to come right on time but he'd try.

4:10. Dammit.

She got up and sat at her desk, opening up her planner to see who she had on schedule for the next day, but the names meant nothing to her. They may as well have been entirely new people.

4:13. How the hell was time going even _slower_?

She closed her day planner, wishing for the small bit of vodka she'd left standing the night before. Her head still throbbed from it.

4:20. She alphabetized the items on her desk. The placements made no sense at all.

4:25. He wasn't coming after all.

She had to get this over with. She couldn't stand waiting another day to tell him this. Her stomach wouldn't take it.

When the lobby door opened she jumped to her feet so quickly she banged her knee painfully on her desk and yelped, holding her breath while the initial agony faded. By then Tig Trager was in her doorway with a bright smile, a wild look in his eye, and … blood on his neck.

She was startled. This threw her game plan off completely.

"What – what happened? You're bleeding."

"Yeah, sorry. I was … busy."

She just stared at him, actually making him uncomfortable.

He pointed to his neck. "I'll clean up. This is bothering you."

"No, sorry. Sit. I'm just not used to my patients bleeding."

"Good thing I'm not your patient anymore," he said, closing the door behind him. She noticed he was wearing a hoodie over his patch, and there were black leather gloves stuffed in his back pocket.

Valerie remembered the second half of her reasons for ending this before it went any further. He was involved in things she couldn't be a part of.

He stalked towards her, and damn her if it wasn't a thrill to just watch him walk her way, eyes running up her body as he did so. She took a deep breath and put both hands out. "Wait," she said, voice softer than she wanted.

He stopped immediately, confused. "Why? What's up?" He wasn't even suspicious of her.

"Please sit."

He did, parking it on the sofa. She sat next to him, not sure if body language really mattered at this point. "I have mishandled your treatment, and I know we haven't had that many sessions but it doesn't matter. There are rules I have to adhere to. And I broke rules by letting you in my home, seeing you outside of appointments, and then … well, I am certainly not allowed to get physically involved. I … I'm sorry. Does that hurt? You should put something on that."

She handed him a Kleenex and he stared at her a moment before taking it. "You're talking strange. Your voice is back to sounding like the therapist I first met."

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Shit. This is bad."

"What's going on, Doc?"

Valerie brought her hand down and met his stare. "If I see you personally, even after you're under the care of another therapist, I could lose my license. And … you can't trust someone who has this kind of advantage in a relationship."

"What are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath. "I can manipulate you. I will always have the upper hand. I know things about you on levels of intimacy that some people don't even get to with their spouses. That's the reason therapists can't date patients. Or get involved with them in any way."

He didn't answer. He just kept staring.

"I'm sorry. I have feelings for you that are inappropriate, and it's unethical for me to see you privately."

He moved back and away from her with a sharp inhale. "Are you … are you fucking kidding me?"

She blinked a couple times. "It's true. This isn't fair to you -"

"You think for one moment I'm worried about getting rolled head over heels?"

Valerie felt the sting in that. So it _was _going to get ugly. That might make this easier.

"And what's this manipulation bullshit? What were you planning on doing? To me?" His laugh was cynical. "If the booze wore off and you're rethinking things, just say so. I'm a big boy, Doc. Don't bullshit me."

"I'm not lying about this."

He leaned forward and for the first time she felt honest physical intimidation from him. "Spare me. I can get laid anywhere. I don't need this extra add-on bullshit."

Like a blow to the stomach, that. But she set her jaw. "We're not on an even level -"

"So tell me about you then. Then we're level. _Then _will you want to fuck?"

She got off the sofa, walking to the window. "Get out," she snapped in a whisper.

"What?"

"Get out." Much better, stronger.

His footsteps were loud, approaching her. She felt herself cringing inwardly just before he grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. She cried out, startled more than hurt. It made him look regretful for maybe a half a second.

"Tell me anything."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"Bullshit. You're good. Very good. This is the biggest cock tease I've had since high school. Not only that; you're a miracle worker. I'm cured, Doc."

"Stop it."

"No, you owe me at least this much. Give me an example of a bit of information so fucking loaded with mind control possibility that I wouldn't know what to do with it. World domination with one private detail."

Valerie was staring at stone-cold anger right then. She wasn't scared at this point; it was more _interesting _to her than anything else. She had never seen anyone hold in a furious temper before, right in her face like this. She could all but _feel _the possibility for violence.

"So let me have it." Gauntlet thrown down.

They stared at each other. He was still so cold and collected, but the eyes were wild. The damage to the side of his neck was like raw hamburger, and she wondered how he got it.

Quite suddenly he grabbed her, kissing her, but there wasn't much in it. She pushed him off, then slapped him across the face. It was a good shot: her reflexes were quick, and she got her entire palm on the meat of his cheek. He didn't react but there had been enough force in it to cause her hand to sting. It had to hurt somewhat.

Valerie swallowed, then … it just came out. Like something she was reading off the back of a novel, but slowing down to really feel it was not an option. "My mother was raised by her aunt and uncle. Her uncle was a … _don_ in the Russian mafia. My mother was supposed to marry the son of a friend of his, the head of some other crime family. But my mother met my father, they fell in love and he rushed her here through Dublin to hide her from her terrible family and this piece of shit she was supposed to marry. And for about fifteen years it worked."

He was listening, those eyes shrewd as he looked for signs she might be lying.

"When I was twelve they found us. Not only was my uncle pissed that she ran and embarrassed the family, but it also appeared they took some money when they went. They tied up my father, made him watch. There were five men. My mother fought the hardest, but not until they started in on me and my little sister."

He was shocked. He even stepped back.

"They cut us. Everywhere. For torture, then to kill us. They left us bleeding on the floor and shot my father through the head. I played dead. They left. I called the ambulance."

Her face was wet with tears. She'd started leaking anyway, even as her voice was too monotonous to really be taken seriously. He was staring at her like he'd just spilled something incredibly messy on an expensive carpet.

"There's my story. That I haven't told anyone in the twenty plus years I've been under federal protection using a name that isn't mine. My half-brother, too. Incidentally. So I have to keep quiet for the both of us."

He put his hand on her shoulder. She smacked it away.

"Shit. Val … fuck. I'm sorry."

"That's the scar, under the tattoo. That's the worst. That's the one they meant to kill me with."

"You don't have to -"

"They're everywhere, the scars. So only people I really trust get close enough to see them. I got through all the trauma well enough. When you're twelve no one suggests that you might have been asking for what you got. So that's why I have this job now. A lot of people have different reasons for fearing intimacy. That's mine."

He turned away, shoving his hands in his hair. "Fuck. Fuck. I am … I am so sorry."

"So when I say I don't want to put my job in harm's way, you'll understand why. It's more than my living. This is something I care about. For my own personal reasons."

"All that shit I said, I'm sorry."

"You couldn't know."

He put his back to her door forcefully, leaning. "I don't see you that way. I was mad. I don't see you as just another …"

"I know."

She hated the pity in his face. She hated that she'd told him everything. She hated that talking about it made it seem like it was all fresh and new.

"You should go -"

"Valerie -"

"That's not my name," she whispered then took a deeper, rattling breath. "Just please … leave."

He did.


	11. Chapter 11

For the next few weeks Valerie was living in a constant state of paranoia. Having someone know about her was like an exposed wound. Every stranger who looked at her too long or in a strange way in public had her abandoning her plans and heading home to lock her doors and recheck where all her guns were.

And she had a few, understandably. There was the Glock in the bedside table which now graduated to under her pillow. Safety on, of course. There was a Remington shotgun locked and loaded in the front hall closet. Her mother's old mid-century Makarov pistol was in the desk drawer in her office, too.

She also found a martial arts club willing to help her brush up her skills. She was first-level black belt in tae kwon do. Not overkill, it just made her feel safer on her own. No amount of self-defense would have helped when she was only twelve, but now she was sure as hell going to put up a fight if anyone came after her.

The only time she felt truly calm, oddly enough, was with her patients. At least that was one place where she knew what she was doing, and she knew she was helping. It healed her to see people come together no matter what they said or did to each other.

She was at her desk, writing out notes for the file of the last couple of the day. A knock at the door brought her head up, and she blinked in surprise to see Gemma Morrow in her doorway, doing her best to look unassuming and apologetic.

"Missus Morrow. What can I do for you?"

"Can I talk privately?"

More surprises. She nodded, motioning to the chair across the desk from her. "Please, have a seat."

Gemma shut the door and approached the chair with slight hesitation, and this whole meek and mild act was making Valerie nervous. She remembered the Makarov pistol in the top drawer just to her right again and told herself to calm down a bit.

"What brings you here? Teresa usually books appointments."

Gemma gave her an eating-lemons type smile, still willing to play nice at least. "Nah, I'm beyond help for that part of my life. But thanks."

"Then what it is? I really didn't expect to see anyone from the club again."

"It's a small town. You'll run in to all of us at one time or another."

"This isn't a chance meeting. What do you want?" Straight-forward was likely best with this one.

"I'm going to ask you to reconsider cutting ties with Tig."

Valerie sighed, setting her pen down. "I thought you didn't like me."

"Doesn't matter. _He _does. I didn't realize how serious it was."

"It's not. Because it _can't _be."

She was quiet for a moment, eyes scanning the wall behind Valerie's desk. There was nothing casual about her posture. She had something to say. This whole _searching for the right words _was such bullshit. "He's one of the most loyal people I've ever known. He is fiercely dedicated and he'd die before he let anything touch you."

Gemma met her eyes at that point, and that tough-as-steel countenance was too … sympathetic. Understanding.

Her panic broke out new. "Fuck. He told you."

"He had to. We need to know about the things happening in this town, anything that could bring outside attention to Charming."

"Fuck."

"I remember it."

Valerie froze, knowing she was likely going pale. Gemma raised her chin. "I've been here a long time, honey. We all heard about what happened to Mickey Boyle in Oakland."

At that name all other sounds deadened. There was a strange buzz in her head like she'd had her hearing damaged by a thunderous blow. She hadn't heard her father's name said out loud in twenty years or more.

"He was with the Devil's Tribe charter outside of Oakland, right? They've always been friends of the Sons. We all mourned your family."

"How … how did you figure it out?"

She gave her the perfect _Bitch please _face. "It was a horrible story. It was why we never wanted to deal with the Russians; they're evil fuckers. It was brutal and horrible; word spread. Both daughters dead, but there were rumours one had lived." Gemma allowed a small smile. "They used to call you Anastasia."

Valerie gave an inelegant and dismissive snort. That was ridiculous.

"Was it as bad as all the stories?" Gemma's voice was impossibly soft and empathic.

_Jesus_, Valerie realized. _I'm staring right at another survivor._

It made her pause before telling Gemma Morrow to get out of her office. She just nodded, licking her lips and looking away. "It's always as bad as they say, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Valerie bit her lip, then took a deep breath. "You want a drink? I've only got bourbon in here."

"Sounds perfect."

Valerie opened the credenza behind her desk, pulling out two tumblers and a decanter. She poured them a respectable mid-afternoon size shot, placing one down for Gemma on the far side of her desk blotter.

"I get it," Gemma said as an offering, picking up the glass. "The whole therapist license thing. It makes sense. But no one in this town is going to turn you in."

"No, they'll just stop seeing me." They both took a good swallow together.

"I care about the Sons, as I've told you before. They're all my boys. No matter how old they are, whether they get married and become fathers or not, they're my Sons. I've known Tiggy a long time."

Valerie almost choked. "_Tiggy_?"

"Sorry, some of us get to call him that."

"I see."

"He needs something good. He's earned it, I think. When I tried to scare you off before it was because I didn't want to see him knocking himself out to score a woman who just wants a little taste of the life before moving on. If he talks about you, you mean something to him."

"Gemma -"

"Hear me out and I'm leaving. I swear it."

"Fine." Valerie held a hand out. "Please, proceed."

The hard set of her jaw came back. "If you ask him to stay the fuck away, that's what he's going to do. But he's hurting, I can tell."

"He's had a rough few weeks, Gemma. I'm one less thing for him to deal with. Try seeing it that way. And you _know _why I can't be with him. My job aside, I spent years staying away from all of that. For very good reason. I'm the walking dead, Gemma. If I'm found … I'm dead."

Gemma nodded. "Except for the fact that we actually can help keep you safe."

"No one can, and getting outside people involved doesn't interest me either."

"He will protect you -"

"And if it gets him killed?" Valerie knew her voice was somewhat shriller suddenly. "It's actually safer for everyone if I'm just on the outskirts."

Gemma turned in her seat to face Valerie straight-on, elbows on her desk. "You came to Opie's funeral … for Tig?"

"Yes," Valerie admitted.

"You looked happy with him."

Valerie just shook her head. "Doesn't matter."

"So you _were_. You like him. You _actually _like and care about him."

Valerie closed her eyes. "I do."

"He feels the same, _Valerie_." The emphasis on her name made her uncomfortable again. "It may sound overly _simple_ to someone so highly educated and careful as you, but when two people feel that way about each other it's idiotic to not be together. Not to at least _try_."

Valerie put her elbows on the desk, too. "We can talk ourselves in circles all day. But bringing up my old life? That has me waiting for you to jump to the part where you threaten me."

"I won't tell anyone about you. Tig had to tell the club for our own good. And he asked me what I thought of you, too."

That raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"He was worried about your past traumas. I had mine later in life. So I assured him that as long as you didn't run screaming the moment something with a cock touched you, you were likely over it and dealing with your shit better than I dealt with mine."

Another deep breath. "I'm sorry to hear that we … have _that _in common."

"More than you know." Then Gemma committed a real no-no, shocking the hell out of her. "I was used against my club."

Valerie winced as she realized the real weight of what Gemma was saying. "Retaliation?"

"More of a 'get in line or more of this will happen.' Using women against their men is so … medieval, isn't it?"

Valerie nodded. "Rape is a tactic of war. Always has been."

"Fucking men."

In spite of herself that made Valerie laugh dryly, and Gemma smiled, too.

"I'm asking this on behalf of someone I care about," Gemma said, throwing down her bourbon and getting to her feet. "When my boys are sad I can't take it. And this is one thing that _maybe _I can help him with. You do a lot of good for him. When he has something to care about he's more himself." She made for the door. "Anyway, that's my pitch. Take care of yourself. And if you need anything, you're a friend of the club anyway." She paused at the door, turning back. "I met your father once. My late husband knew him. He was a friend, and so are you. _Natalia._"

Then she was gone. Valerie's heart had stopped when her name was mentioned. Well, what _had _been her name. Once upon a time.


	12. Chapter 12

**This will be the only chapter I post today because it's a big one. I hope y'all can handle it …**

Valerie put a fool's trust in Gemma Morrow. It wasn't born from the older woman being in the life for so long; it came from shared experience now. She had to trust that her secret was safe within SAMCRO. And as the next few days crept by she felt her paranoia fade then lift. She was even close to feeling relief that she now had someone she could talk to if she wanted.; which was insane. She was still going to stay away from the club for her own well-being. And that included keeping a safe distance Tig Trager.

Valerie was committed to living with having people in on the secret. She should have really known better.

A chair dragging on the floor in the kitchen woke her up. She opened both eyes immediately, awake in that "something's wrong" way that comes on you so quickly. She didn't sit straight up like a horror movie. She just quietly waited until another noise came; a creaking of the floorboards in her hallway, furthest from her room.

Her hand slid under her pillow, palming the Glock and pulling it out slowly, straining to hear another sound, anything. She had the feeling someone was in the hall, waiting for an indication that she'd heard the floor creak and woken up. Maybe a certain very specific sound would scare them off.

Valerie sat up, released the safety as loud as she could and got to her feet.

She wasn't some casual gun owner; she'd been around them her entire life. Her father had started teaching her to shoot when she was eight, and she'd spent a lot of time watching him clean and assemble all different kinds of weapons on the kitchen table. She respected them and was comfortable handling one; even now she wasn't scared. Her hand was steady, her heart maintaining an almost normal rate, allowing her to hear what was going on in the hallway. Another floorboard creaked and her grip firmed up, wondering if she should wait for this person to come to her or startle them by whipping the door open quickly.

Valerie decided to wait. She stayed at the foot of the bed, weapon raised and ready. Her breathing was normal. Her skin felt cold. Still, her hands didn't shake.

A hand was on the knob, she caught the slight movement and sound as it turned very slowly. Valerie took a deep, silent breath. As the door opened soundlessly she let air out of her lungs and allowed the calm to wash over her.

The door admitted a short form, which she assumed was a heavier-built male, and slowly he came into the light mixture from her alarm clock's digital display and the street lamp outside. Valerie hoped her eyes were more adjusted than his. That's when she realized he was wearing a balaclava.

Right. Business time.

She didn't so much as hesitate. She aimed, fired, and he was caught in the shoulder. There was a shout of pain and alarm as he spun sideways, hitting the doorway before stumbling away from her back into the hallway.

He shouted something she didn't understand, a foreign language. She didn't have time to think on it. She stepped over him, gun trained downward. He seemed quite worried about the injury.

She heard more footsteps pounding down the hallway. She swung the gun up to her right, two-handed. She couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to her that there was more than one of them.

There were three. She fired, backing up, and if she hit someone it was just a glancing blow. They all kept coming. Her third shot tore a hole in the drywall, nearly hitting one man in the head.

Valerie tried to back into the bedroom but the man on the floor grabbed her ankle and she fell right on to her ass, across the threshold.

She hit his jaw with a good kick and he let go; actually he stopped moving. She crab-walked backwards into her room and kicked the door closed. It was shoved open immediately as she was scrambling to her feet. She fired another shot but the guy moved last minute, lunging low at her and taking her down to the floor. The gun skittered away.

The other two crowded in after him. She kicked. Punched. She knew she broke his nose by the sound and his shout of pain, but he was angry. He wasn't interested in fighting with her; his hands pinned her arms down.

Valerie's flight response faltered as overwhelming dread and fear took over. She started screaming for all she was worth. There had been gunfire. Someone had to have heard it –

A second man fell to his knees, at her head, pinning her arms down at the elbow. That's when the man over her started pulling at her pyjamas.

Rage took over. She had never in her life been so fucking angry, and she refused to show fear. She kicked her feet and he had a hell of time getting her pyjama pants off. When they were free of her feet she got him with a great kick to the face then his gut. As he was winded she caught him with another good one between the legs. His yowl was a satisfying sound as he fell sideways.

She clawed at the forearms holding him down, and he had to rearrange his grip so her hands were immobilized. She struck fast, catching him with a punch that he was not expecting. But the third man was too much for her.

He straddled her, grabbing her by the hair on top of her head and delivering one, two, three rights to her cheekbone. She was too slow to deflect them.

Valerie saw stars, and inky black started to creep in to her vision. Her limbs were moving slower than she was used to. She still struck out and fought, but when the man above her pressed his forearm across her windpipe all fighting stopped and she was just trying to breathe. The burning in her lungs was the last thing she felt before the blackness won out and she slid under.

Valerie came to slowly, no particular sound bringing her out of wherever it was she had gone. The house was still dark. But everything hurt.

She took a deep breath anyway, felt aching down her ribs. She was on her side. She rolled to her back, feeling her muscles protest the motion. Then as she settled on to floor she tried to inventory how many bruises she could feel but it was too tiring.

Her left eye wasn't opening all the way, so there was likely a hell of a shiner there. She didn't think she had a concussion at least. But she was scared to sit up nonetheless.

She was also cold. She struggled upwards, feeling the pull of many pulled muscles and tendons, and a deeper ache that was both familiar and entirely different this time.

In the dim room she found her pyjama pants, pulling them on slowly and painfully. She found the cordless phone and with an unsteady hand she called 911. She was proud of how calm she sounded as she asked to report a break in and assault. The lady on the other end of the line stayed with her while she waited for the Sheriff's department to respond, asking her what had happened. Valerie tried to get the words out but it was very difficult. _Shock_, she realized. _You're in shock right now. When it wears off you're going to be a mess._

What she really wanted to do was take a shower. Her eyes cast down over the floor while the dispatch officer was asking what her injuries were and whether or not she needed an ambulance. Well, why not.

She noticed the condom wrappers then, and got up to turn the overheard light on to confirm it. Well, thanks for small miracles anyway. She knew their DNA was likely gone and flushed, but …

She looked at her nails on one hand. There was blood under all four fingernails. _There's_ DNA. That was good thinking on her part. She had to make sure to not wash her hands –

Jesus, a shower would be so _wonderful_. She wanted to tell the 911 operator not to bother, she just wanted to stand under a scalding stream for as long as her water heater could handle. But that never got anyone thrown in jail, did it?

Valerie heard the police arrive like the sirens and car doors were rushing down a long, insulated hallway. She got up and met them at the front door, thanking the dispatcher before hanging up with her. The first two officers through the door were very kind. They could tell she'd been assaulted, the evidence was right there on her face. They invited her to sit down on the sofa. One stayed with her, letting her describe what happened. The other one was inspecting the front door, which she saw was completely intact. They either picked the lock or had a key.

"It happened in the bedroom – end of the hall," she finally said, and he nodded then wordlessly left the living room. She continued on with her story, still cold. When she got to the point of meeting them at the door, the officer nodded and shut his notebook.

That's when the paramedics got there. They checked her cheekbone and decided it wasn't fractured. Her eye was working fine, it was just swollen shut. No concussion, so that was good news as well. Then he asked if she would go to the hospital for an internal exam. His voice was wonderfully gentle but his look was firm.

"Yes, of course," she said, which seemed to satisfy him.

The other officer returned with a few questions about the state of her bedroom as well, also asking her more questions about her gun, who she hit in the hallway, then telling her the Glock was still in the bedroom. They'd left it behind.

She repeated the story in front of both of them, up until the point where she'd blacked out. Then the officer who had first interviewed her left to get a camera, and the second one had her retell the whole story again.

The paramedics let her sit up in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, about a century later, perched on the side of a gurney, holding an icepack to her cheekbone. The sky was the colour of murky dishwater by then, and she could see her neighbourhood flying by the windows, disassociated. Valerie was still comfortably wrapped in shock.

They scraped under her nails at the hospital, then gave her a thorough examination and photographed the bruises she had. Still, she was underwater while people showed her how to hold her arm and which way to turn and … just _breathe_.

That last one came from the young doctor as she was performing the internal. That was the one Valerie was having the most trouble with; _just breathe. _She could feel how, even though she was numb to the bone, she was also completely _clenched_. Tight all over.

Terrified.

When the exam was over the doctor stood next to her with a pleasant but not too happy smile. "Valerie, right?"

That startled her. "Sorry?"

"I met you at Opie's memorial. I'm Tara, Jax's wife."

It took Valerie a moment to travel from her internal locked-down state to register that there were actually real people around her. Right, the wife of the club president. A pretty, dark-haired and totally _normal-_looking woman. She was a doctor? "Oh, sorry."

The brunette shook her head. "No, I understand. I just wanted to say … I hope you're okay."

Valerie tried to smile to show she appreciated it, but she couldn't. "Thank you."

"If you need anything just let me know, okay?"

Valerie nodded. "Thanks."

"Take a moment. Stay here. Another investigator is waiting to take _another_ statement when you're ready for them. In the meantime … there's a shower in the bathroom."

Valerie brought her head around to the woman and then she _did _smile, repeating one more time, "Thank you."


	13. Chapter 13

Valerie couldn't care less if a male or female officer was taking her statement, but _this _woman was starting to break through her numbness in a nasty way.

She was asking about Valerie's affiliation with the Sons motorcycle club. For the life of her Valerie couldn't see what that had to do with anything, and after fifteen minutes of being pressed she asked what the reasoning was behind this line of questioning.

Valerie hadn't mentioned a motorcycle engine or any kind of club regalia on any of the attackers. None of them wore jewellery that brought any kind of gang to mind. And these guys had been shouting to each other in … Ukrainian? Czech? She didn't even know. And she'd told them all of this many times over.

Still the woman wanted to know the nature of her relationship with Tig Trager in particular. Apparently a neighbour had heard the shots, and when they were canvassed they indicated that Valerie's closeness with that dangerous criminal prevented them from getting involved.

The woman's face was rude. Judgmental. Valerie lost her shit.

"Suggest one more time that this is somehow my fault one way or another and get a black eye to match mine," she snapped, and the officer had the grace to at least look somewhat embarrassed.

"That's not what I'm -"

"Save it. Get out. Get me someone that's not an asshole."

As she was spitting out the last of that verbal assault her hospital room door opened, and she should have been paying attention but she couldn't. She was too pissed off at the woman next to her.

"Get out then," a voice said from the doorway, and it brought her around, startled. In the bright white, sterile room Chibbs looked awfully out of place, all in black like he was.

The officer looked at him, opened her mouth but he cut her off.

"She said get out. So get out."

The officer gave Valerie a good helping of stink eye then stalked from the room, glaring at Chibbs before exiting through the door he held open. He let it fall closed behind her, then came to stand at the foot of the bed.

"They're letting you go," he said, looking her straight in the eye in a way that … she didn't know _how _to read it, actually. He was concerned, clearly. She could tell that right off the bat. He was sorry this happened, yes. But there was no pity either. One more piteous look might have put her right over the edge.

He raised his eyebrows. "You heard me then?"

She nodded. "Yes – yeah. I'm free to go."

"They're bringing you something to wear. Once you're dressed I can take you wherever you need to go."

There was a long pause, her fault entirely. "No, you don't have to -"

"I do, actually. Don't argue. That'll just waste time."

Annoyance sparked through her numbness again. "Excuse me?"

He leaned on the footboard of the bed, voice dropped to a conspirator level. "Gemma told me to give you a ride when they said you could leave. I'm more scared of her than you."

Hard to be contrite in a paper hospital gown. She nodded, which made him nod and straighten up. "Good. I'm right outside."

He left her alone again, staring after him. Gemma sent him. Someone told her. Someone told … the club? Christ, she hoped not. Although _now _it was hard to stop the word from spreading. _Shit_.

Tara was back, carrying some green surgical scrubs. "Here you go. They're comfortable," she offered, setting them down on the foot of the bed. "I see your ride is here."

Valerie frowned. "How'd they find out so fast?"

She looked a bit sheepish, which made Valerie like her even more. "I called Gemma. I'm sorry. When I heard what happened, I thought the club should know. They'll help you any way they can, you should know that."

"Why? Why would they do that?" Valerie threw the blanket off her legs and got her feet tenderly. Her body was still not feeling all the pain; they'd given her some pretty decent meds already. And she had a script filled out for something to "help her sleep," too, along with precautionary antibiotics. She was set, pain-wise.

Tara was looking at her like she was insane. "They take care of their friends, Valerie."

Valerie sighed, hands on her hips while she prepared to walk after sitting for so long. "I don't trust it when people are just … that nice suddenly."

Tara laughed, picking up the scrubs and handing them to Valerie directly. "That's probably a smart move when it comes to Gemma," she conceded. "But … it's personal for her, you know that, right?"

Valerie remembered her talk with Gemma. Another survivor. And here she was, victimized twice over. Something flipped in her chest, but the shock still had her in a pretty tight grip. It wasn't letting up any time soon.

She dressed in the scrubs and a pair of slippers that both carried implicit instructions that you could _not _remove them from the premises. Apparently having an "in" with a doctor had its perks.

Chibbs was still standing in the hall when she emerged. He hadn't even sat down. _Yeah, he's a chauffeur all right. Bullshit. _They were protecting her. She shouldn't have been comforted by that thought, but she was. Letting her guard down for a moment might be … nice, actually.

That flicker of heartache came through again, then it ebbed out. _Nope, still not thawed._

"Tell me you drove something with at least four wheels," she muttered, bringing a grin to his face.

"Of course. You're ready?"

She nodded, and he led the way through the hospital out the front doors. She blinked against the glare of sunshine. It was very warm; a gorgeous day, really. Chibbs held the door of a van open for her, helping her up, seeming to realize she was in pain and not mauling her that much. When he climbed in the driver's seat next to her he gave her an amiable smile, started the van and didn't say another word as they drove out of the parking lot.

He wasn't going to her house, she realized, a slight panic rising. She shot him a look of alarm which he had obviously been expecting.

"Don't worry. I'm taking you somewhere completely safe. They won't think to look for you here."

She drew breath to argue, but of course it was futile and she needed her energy for other things. Gradually she realized _where_ he was driving her and Valerie was wishing she _had _argued.

He pulled in to the lot at Teller-Morrow, parking the van and muttering "Home sweet home" before getting out.

She eased herself down before he could help her. He didn't give her shit. She appreciated that.

"Through here," he said. Again she followed him in to the club house, through the main room, which looked even more sordid in the daylight, and down a hallway past the washrooms. He opened an ordinary door, standing aside to let her through.

"You can stay in here. Gemma put fresh sheets on the bed. The bathroom's through that door there, there's fresh towels and everything. She also got you some other stuff, all in the bathroom. If you need anything, come and get me. I'm at the garage. There's a guy in the kitchen but he's okay. His name's Chucky. Don't let his fingers freak you out."

"What?"

Chibbs smiled. "You'll see. But like I said, no one will bother you here."

She put a hand on his forearm as he turned, and he stilled, looking back to her.

"Thank you." There was still no real emotion in her voice, but she said it softly.

He nodded. "No worries, love." Then he winked and left her on her own.

She shut the door. It locked from the inside but she left it as it was. What was the point?

Valerie visited the washroom, taking stock of the new shampoo and soap someone had just put on the sink. There was even a toothbrush and paste. A plastic bag was set out as well; her prescriptions filled. How the hell had they -

She had to smile. Gemma really was the momma bear, wasn't she?

She heard the door open, and she came out to find another shorter, slight man in the room with a gigantic mug of something steaming. He was balding with some established stubble, but the first thing she noticed was his giant, robot-looking fingers.

"Chucky," she said as he realized she was there.

He smiled. "That's me. I brought this. Herbal tea. It's … comforting." He placed it on the bedside table, pulled something out of his pocket and set it on the table. "Frozen peas for the …" he gestured to his eye, then ducked his head and turned to leave her on her own again.

"Thanks," she called weakly, and he just waved his … _hand_, and almost tripped over a dog.

It startled both of them. It was a white bulldog, its hind end wrapped in bandages. Chucky nearly tripped, cussed, and the dog ran into the room, sniffing every piece of furniture it could find.

"No, no. Come on, _dog_. Leave her alone."

Valerie had to smile. Yeah, that dog was really worried.

"The dog can stay. What's its name?"

Chucky shrugged. "They just brought her in today. Chibbs gave her stitches –that's what the bandage is for."

"Stitches?"

"I think they found her at a dog fight. But they don't tell me everything."

He left the dog behind, and Valerie looked down to find the animal sitting in front of her, staring up at her. Her tongue was out, panting. She looked like she was actually smiling.

"Hi," Valerie said weakly, padding around the dog and making her way back to the unfolded sofa bed. The dog followed, staying at the side of the bed, looking at her expectantly. Valerie remembered the stitches and stooped down painfully to pick her up, putting her on the covers carefully. "I hope you're allowed up here," she muttered, to which the dog snuffled.

Valerie sat down too, leaning against the headboard, bringing her legs up in front of her. The frozen peas were fantastic on her face, and she couldn't wait for the swelling to go down. Having your eye sight hindered was proving to be annoying. Although it did help her in a mostly unsuccessful attempt to not notice the obscene magazine photos pinned to the walls.

Then she reached for the tea, and her first sip was truly bliss. Exactly what she needed.


	14. Chapter 14

The dog was stretched out next to her, head in her lap. Valerie was playing with her velvety ears, scratching behind them. The dog seemed to like that. "I wish I knew what to call you," she muttered, taking one of the last sips of tea. The dog made a chuffing sound by way of an answer.

Big boots sounded in the hallway. Valerie froze with mug half-way to her mouth, listening to them get louder. She felt … not fear. Something thick, a lump, rising in her chest. In her throat.

He knocked. She'll never forget that part.

"Yeah?" Her voice squeaked, hand beginning to shake. "Come in."

He opened the door and suddenly was just … _there. _Huge in the doorway. All in dark colours again, his face and hair looking somewhat crazed. His eyes were maybe a bit wider, brighter, more … wild at the moment. But it was certainly Tig, and at the very sight of him she suddenly gave a sob, covered her mouth, and let go.

The dog got up, licking her hand and face, concerned in that way that only dogs can be; no understanding, just instantly wanting to comfort her. Warm dry hands took the mug from her, then before she knew it she was being held to his chest and he was rubbing her back with one hand. She curled in on herself and he basically pulled her in to his lap, holding her like a child. None of the comforting hurt, she went limp and boneless. He tucked her head under his chin, cradling her in place as she cried those big, hideous, wracking sobs that actually hurt in your head, stomach, and heart.

In all her life she had never felt as untouchable as she did right then. She was behind one-foot thick steel walls and inches of bulletproof glass for all she knew. Nothing was going to get to her and hurt her as long as he was holding her.

Valerie felt no embarrassment for falling apart. She cried and yowled without any worry of anyone having anything to say about it. She clung to his shirt, wadding it up in her hand, just as something to ground her to the fact that she wasn't alone. And it was body-racking, ugly crying, too. It hurt then: her face was swollen, her eye throbbed as her face twisted. The pulled abdominal muscles and bruised ribs didn't appreciate the strain either, but once she started she couldn't stop.

He didn't interfere or try to pull that bullshit _shhhh_ing with her. He just listened, even if she wasn't actually saying anything. Pain and crying are both exhausting, and when she felt her energy really starting to lag she just tried to _breathe. _It was surprisingly calming. His heartbeat was steady against her cheek, and as she listened to it she felt herself fading. She remembered telling him to listen to her breathing as he nearly lost it at her front door. Shit, that really _did _work.

Just before falling asleep she realized he was weeping too, repeating as a soft whisper in to her hair, "Thank God. Oh Jesus, thank God."

Valerie was awoken by her very warm and breathing pillow shifting under her. Tig was trying to ease her onto her back without disturbing her but she was awake with a start, trying to remember who she was with and where she was.

Tig was right there, holding her hands, saying soothingly, "It's okay, baby. You're with me. I just have to take the dog out. Don't worry."

She nodded, blinking sleep away and letting her head clear. She was so warm; the loss of him holding her made her shudder a bit.

"I'll be right back," he said softly, whistling for the dog to follow. The dog hopped to the floor, following with a wagging tail.

Valerie got to her feet, feeling the pull of her internal and external bruises with each movement. She padded gingerly to the bathroom, realizing then how injured she truly was. Each step set off a new firework of hurt. Valerie rifled through the plastic bag again, finding the three prescription bottles. Valerie took the antibiotic dose, washing it down with water from her cupped hand. That water felt like bloody golden nectar in her dry mouth. Then she looked at the sleep aid and the pain killer, wondering which one to take.

The sleep aid left her vulnerable. She was in a strange place. There was no way Tig was letting her go back home now. Did she really want to be completely unconscious here?

She checked the rest of the bathroom again. The toothbrush and toothpaste were calling out to her, as was a stick of deodorant on a shelf over the toilet. She made use of all of it, then the facilities while she mulled over that to take. There was also a nice-smelling bar of soap by the sink that was decidedly of the female variety. She washed her hands and face with it, liking the scent and appreciating that it got rid of the hospital smell.

Gemma had brought her these things. Tig had held her until she fell asleep. Chibbs had picked her up and delivered her without a leer or off colour remark; in fact, he'd been perfectly agreeable.

Feeling like she was in danger suddenly seemed preposterous. This was likely the safest place in the world. Was she actually worried about Tig taking advantage of her in _any_ way? Her answer wasn't entirely surprising. She completely trusted him.

She popped the top off the sleep aid, dosed herself as per the doctor's recommendation, then returned to the hide-a-bed, pulling back the blankets and climbing inside, kicking the slippers to the floor. The smell of spring-fresh laundry was lovely, and she immediately felt comforted again.

Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy when she heard the footsteps in the hall, and she brought her head up as the door was opened. Some music from the club trailed down the hall, the sound of pool balls and normal-level voices melting in to it. When Tig shut the door it actually cut down most of the sound. The dog hopped up on the bed, clearly able to make the jump. "Faker," she muttered as the little beast turned a circle before deciding to curl up and look at her, tongue hanging out and actually smiling. Valerie would swear she was smiling.

"I think she decided she wants to sleep here," he said wryly, and in the dimming room she couldn't see his face. She wanted to get a look at him but didn't know how to tell him to turn a light on just so she could see his eyes.

"She's welcome to," Valerie said, sitting up and yawning.

"Get some sleep," Tig instructed, sitting on the edge of the bed like a concerned parent. "If you want anything, I'll be out in the clubhouse. I'll crash on the sofa out there."

"Tig," she stopped short of begging him to sleep next to her.

"What is it?"

She changed direction. "What happened today?"

He frowned, she could see _that _much. "What do you mean?"

"When you came in here. You looked … stressed. Then … when you were crying …"

He ran his hands roughly over his face. "I was worried about you, Val."

"I know but … was there something else today?"

"You don't need anything else -"

"Please tell me." She took his hand and heard him give a shuddering sigh.

"I … I uh … thought I was going to die today."

She so self-centred that she assumed the news of what happened to _her _had him that turned around, so she waited. He just shook his head. "Val, you don't need anything else - "

"I'm pretty locked in my own head right now. Tell me about … something else."

"It's nothing good."

"I wouldn't believe you if it was."

He gave a half-smile, almost himself again.

"Not telling me things isn't the same as protecting me," she tried again. "Tell me what happened with you today."

His head titled and he looked down at their joined hands, thoughtful. "Today I was on my knees and I was waiting for the man who killed my daughter to send me through the fucking pearly gates."

Her grip tightened. "Jesus. "

"Nah. It's … it's done. I'm here. I'm breathing. And … he isn't."

She sat up, leaning towards him. "Do you … do you feel better for killing him?"

"Yes. Yes and no."

Valerie put a hand on his shoulder. "Tig, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Tig looked her right in the eye. Shadowy as his face was she could feel that cold blueness. "Jax did it. He gave me my friend's gun to use. My old president's gun. He's going to go away for killing Pope. And someone will get five million just for killing whoever killed Pope." He sighed. "I can't tell you that, can I? I can't tell you I just helped set up an old friend. And that it meant I got to kill the man who murdered my little girl."

She pulled him to her and he leaned down into a hug, even if he wasn't exactly crying. Maybe he was in that numb state, too. "I was sure he was going to kill me. There was less than a minute where he could have just capped me."

"But he didn't. You're here." Tig's arms wound around her, not too tightly. "You're here," she whispered again, pressing her cheek to the top of his head.

No, she certainly wasn't scared of him. She couldn't classify a single thing about him that would remind her of the men who'd attacked her. They may as well have been another species.

He sat up suddenly, wiping at his eyes roughly. "I should let you sleep. You're probably exhausted."

"Tig," she said, taking his hand back again. "Could you … could you please stay here with me?"

His voice was returning to normal, and she was guessing he was nervous or uncomfortable, which was remarkably out of character. "You don't want me in here, babe. Not with what you … nah. Wouldn't you feel better with a locking door between you and everyone else?"

She shook her head. "I'm not scared of you, Tig."

A big sigh, but she still got the feeling he didn't really want to leave her alone. That _maybe _he was pleased she'd asked him to stay. "I'll sleep on top of the blankets."

Valerie nodded. "Okay."

"Slide over then."


	15. Chapter 15

Tig rose to his full height, shrugging off his vest and throwing it over a chair. He unfastened the knife strapped to one leg, putting the entire contraption down on the bedside table loudly. A handgun also appeared from his waistband and that was placed next to it after he confirmed the safety was on.

Valerie tried not to watch all this, but it seemed so private. She couldn't look away. Really, he may as well have been naked. Without all those armaments he looked completely different. The bed bowed again as he sat on the edge, leaning over to remove his boots. She heard them hit the floor loudly. He shoved a pillow upright against the sofa/headboard, sitting up against it, legs out in front of him. He didn't look at her, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

She snuggled down in the blankets on her side, facing him, letting her eyes fall closed. He sighed once. Twice. A third time and changed position.

Valerie opened an eye, watching him fidget. "You're uncomfortable."

"Yeah. I am."

She sat up, leaning back against the sofa. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"No, I know. I'm just … I'm still a bit … high right now."

"Turn the light on."

"Nah, you need to sleep."

"Turn it on." Another sigh as he turned on the lamp on the bedside table. Then she kept doctor voice going. "Talk to me then."

Tig shook his head, pressing his fingers in to the corners of his eyes. "I don't like feeling relieved."

"About what?"

"About still being here. I feel guilty for it."

"Because of your daughter?"

He nodded, jaw tight. "It's the ... _relief_." He pounded a fist to the centre of his chest. "Right here. It's wrong but …"

"You dying doesn't mean anyone comes back, Tig. You're here for your other daughter, your club -"

"You," he added, sneaking a glance at her.

She allowed a slight smile, but it hurt her cheek and she knew she winced.

Tig clenched his jaw when she did it. "They said there were four of them."

Of course she knew what he was talking about. She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, and talking with him about this right then would send them plummeting to something concrete that she could never remove. They had both had the kind of day that would change them from here on out. And he'd already shared his experience, hadn't he?

Valerie spent half her professional work day telling people to just _talk_ to each other. Not taking her own advice would be hypocritical. So she took a deep breath and jumped.

"Yeah, there were four."

His face darkened, and just for a moment she saw danger there. Not anything that was a threat to _her_, just the potential for real violence. "Did you really shoot one of them?"

Man, how did they always manage to know these things?

He read her mind. "Chibbs was talking to one of the Sheriff department's lackeys."

She just nodded at that. "Yeah, I got the first one in the shoulder. I should have aimed for his fucking head."

"Then what happened?"

Valerie closed her eyes, feeling the panic flood her again as she remembered. "The other three were in the hall. I fired a few more times. I missed them all. In a fucking hallway, yet. I must have been panicking. I tried to fight but … there were too many. A few shots to the face," she indicated her shiner, "and I was fading. One guy held me down by the arms, then another guy choked me out."

His eyes flashed. "You were unconscious."

"Yeah. I was. They could have killed me at any point. But they left me."

He frowned. "You told the cops they were speaking … Czech? Ukrainian?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't Russian; I know a little Russian and I didn't recognize it entirely. Most likely Ukrainian, that's my guess."

"So it wasn't your family," he mused, looking away for a moment. "Because the Russians would have killed you."

She nodded. "Yeah, that was my thought, too."

"You don't remember … the worst of it?"

Valerie met Tig's eyes again. "No. I don't remember the rape, but it happened. And there were … condom wrappers on the floor. So that's the good news there."

"Do you think … all four of them …"

"No," she rushed ahead of him a bit. "There were only three wrappers. My guess is the guy that I shot was … not interested."

Tig's face was dark as a thundercloud at that part. There was anger, rage, boiling right under the surface. She knew the violence would be flung outward, away from her. She wasn't scared, but seeing him this way reminded her what he was capable of.

"I woke up once they were gone, called the cops. That's it."

"How hurt are you? Right now?"

She swallowed. "The face is throbbing. I can barely see out of this eye, obviously. I got knocked around a bit fighting them. I feel like my ribs are bruised but at the hospital they said it's just pulled muscles."

"And?"

She felt a few tears spring up. "And … it hurts. Yeah. I was raped by three people. It really fucking hurts." She heard the horrible, pained tone in her voice.

"I want to find out who this was," he said, voice icy calm to match his eyes. "I want to make them hurt. I want to kill them."

"Me too," she said firmly, making it sound like a pact.

"I'd bring you their heads or fingers if you wanted."

She shook her head. "Not good enough. I want to kill them myself."

He didn't like that. He wanted to do it for her. "I'd kill them in front of you if you wanted."

She just shook her head.

He swung sideways, surprisingly agile, actually sitting cross-legged. "I can pull out their fingernails. Beat their faces to pulp."

"Give them three minutes to think about it, then a bullet between their eyes. That's it."

He tilted his head. "Broken fingers? Arms? Legs?"

She just shook her head.

"Gouge out their fucking eyes with my thumbs. A hammer to their balls."

Valerie frowned. "Are we negotiating?"

"This is one thing I know I can do for _you_. I can make them suffer and then kill them. You wouldn't get your hands dirty at all."

"I don't care if my hands get dirty. I want to kill them."

He straightened up and she realized they'd been leaning towards each other as they bartered for who had the right to do what to the rhetorical bad guys they didn't even know the names of yet.

"You helped me Val. You're still helping me, even today after what happened. You're still helping me. Talking to me." His face changed. Hard edges softened. His eyes warmed, and he leaned back to her, taking her hands in his. "This is the only thing I'm good at. Let me do this."

She exhaled, realizing then how insane this discussion was. They'd likely never find the guys anyway. She looked from their hands back to his eyes. Jesus, she'd never seen them so desperately pleading. With all he'd been through he wanted to do something for her.

Not romantic, no. But there had to be another word for it.

"How the hell can you stand to have me in here?" He wondered lightly, like he was suddenly just thinking out loud. "You know what I'm like. Why are you letting me sit here with you?"

His face was completely open, free of any tough-guy pretence. She didn't know why she was doing this either. Other than … "I trust you," she repeated for what felt like the tenth time. "I see you for more than what you choose to show people."

He didn't expect any answer, and he was surprised again. "Jesus," he said suddenly, breaking the _moment_. "You're really getting under my skin, Doc." He stretched his legs out again, leaning back into the sofa and holding an arm out. "Come here."

She scooted closer without hesitation, tucking herself under his arm, against his side. He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as they both settled comfortably. His hand stroked her arm absently, then he reached out with his other hand to shut the light off.

Dog settled between her legs and Tig's, resting her surprisingly heavy head on Valerie's knee.

"Is she bothering you?"

"No," Valerie said, bemused. "I love dogs."

After a moment he laughed, squeezing her to him for a moment. "Perfect. That's perfect."

As they fell in to comfortable silence she became aware that they were not alone in the clubhouse – specifically the room behind them. At first it was just muffled voices but then it became obvious that someone was enjoying the company of a very amorous partner, likely up against the wall that separated them.

Without a word to her Tig's arm swung upward, pounding the wall over his head. "Keep it down!" He shouted.

Right. They were not alone here. She had nearly forgotten.

"Sorry, it can get loud some nights," Tig muttered as the noise stopped.

"That's … fine."

"We have a guy coming to change your locks tomorrow," he said softly, his hand coming up to play with her hair. It made her close her eyes. "You'll be in your own bed tomorrow night. Or … wherever you want to be. Either way, it'll be safe to go back." He didn't really sound like he believed that, but he wasn't going to lock her up, either. That was important.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Chibbs arranged it all."

"Well … that was very thoughtful. Tell him thank you if I forget."

Valerie fell asleep with his left hand tracing lines on her arm, his right softly running through her hair, soothing and shockingly gentle.


	16. Chapter 16

Valerie came awake to a bright room, guessing it must have been late morning by all the sunshine. She was on her side, cosy enough that she had no desire to move at all. She'd slept fantastically, even on a pull-out sofa bed. Those were some good sleeping pills –

Right. She'd been assaulted and attacked just over 24 hours ago. She was in a strange bed. Not in her home.

The thought made her aware of the fact that she was aching again. She reached up to touch her right eye, and though it still felt warm and tight she thought the swelling might actually be going down. That was good news.

Then as her body awakened with all that pain she realized she was being held, spooned from behind. And he was asleep.

Valerie fell still, feeling herself smile. His breathing was soft on the back of her neck, and she also became aware that the dog was still between her legs and his, also asleep, her breathing almost in perfect time with the man holding her. Tig's arm was slung over her hip, his hand resting in front of her, lax in sleep. She stared at it; the heavy rings, the heavily lined knuckles, the skin of which were broken. He'd hit someone the day before.

He could have died too, she remembered. They both narrowly escaped permanent removal from the here-and-now just one day earlier. Aside from what she knew of him and he knew of her they had this in common more than anything else; they were beyond the point of cutting ties clean. If nothing else came of it, she had to see him as one of the best friends she'd likely ever have. And he was willing to kill and maim for her.

What did it say for her if she was charmed by all that?

Her right arm was falling asleep, so she tried to manoeuvre onto her back without waking him. But he was completely entwined with her, and as she tried to ease away to make room he woke, his hand flying to her hip, grip tightening on her like something might be pulling her away from him.

She gave a startled gasp, looking over her shoulder. He was awake, his blue eyes already on her face. She watched him truly come awake, his face softening and his hand easing off her hip.

"Sorry," he mumbled, eyes blinking wider. Then he yawned, leaned forward and shocked her by planting a kiss on her temple. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, yawning herself. "I had a great sleep."

"Good." He let go of her, rolling on to his back and accidentally knocking the dog with his foot. She made a noise of annoyance then rolled over the other way and went back to sleep.

Valerie rolled over then, shaking out her right arm and stretching her arms over her head. Yep, everything hurt, but the stretching brought her awake too. "I guess … I should go home."

There was no answer, and she looked to where Tig was still reclined next to her, up on one elbow. He pushed her hair out of her face, fingertips brushing her forehead. Jesus, that was such a comforting gesture that had the possibility to become something … nope, _that_ part of her wasn't feeling him again. Not yet.

She was staring at his face as he examined her, his hand gingerly playing over the swollen eye. When he first came to her office she never would have guessed he was even capable of this much tenderness.

"I would give almost anything to keep you with me where I could look out for you," he muttered, again like he was thinking out loud and likely hadn't even wanted her to hear it.

"Will you come with me and check the place out? To make sure it's safe?" She was tough, yes. But sometimes you had to play soft to appease a certain class of tough guy. Valerie knew her request would please him, and it seemed to. He gave a small smile.

"That's the next best thing," he conceded, rolling to the other side of the bed and sitting up.

Valerie had to smile to herself, too. Sometimes complicated, but usually not; that was Tig. She sat up, yawning again, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Getting to her feet was painful. The internal damages were raising their hand for attendance, certainly. She had to stand in place and let the wave of _holy shit that hurts _pass by. Her lower abdomen hurt the worst and she tried not to think about what in particular had happened to _those _bits –

Tig's hand closed on her elbow, and being locked in her thoughts at that moment the contact made her yelp even as she was swinging her right fist out, which he caught easily, even as surprised as he was.

"Jesus – I'm sorry," she stammered, dropping her arm. Her reaction shocked the both of them.

"No," he said, taking a step back. "I snuck up you. You looked like you were hurting."

She closed her eyes, taking a few steadying breaths. "I am, actually. It's very painful today."

"Can I … can I help?"

She shook her head. "No, I've got pain killers in the bathroom -"

"I'll get 'em."

Valerie sat back down, her racing heart finally slowing. She'd been able to let him hold her without incident, yet the slightest touch …

A touch she hadn't expected or asked for, she knew _that _was the difference maker. She'd been tracking her damages and hadn't expected him –

Her head swam. She didn't want to go through this part again, the lack of trust. This was almost worse than the actual –

Her stomach heaved. Pain forgotten, she spun around the foot of the bed, shoved Tig out of the way as he was leaving the bathroom, and made it to the toilet just in time to watch her stomach vacate itself of nothing but bile; she hadn't eaten anything the day before. It hurt, but she was remembering what she could about those hands pushing at her clothes, holding her down, the terror of being so outnumbered, knowing full well she wasn't getting away from them no matter how tough she was and how hard she fought and kicked and bit and screamed –

Another wave brought another heave but her stomach was empty. Her body just fought through the psychosis she couldn't defend herself from. Her face was wet from tears that were silently falling, body now slick with sweat from the nausea. Valerie put an arm up on the toilet seat, resting her forehead on it. She concentrated on breathing. That was good. Breathing was good –

A cold cloth was pressed to the back of her neck, and she started weeping again because it felt so amazing. She didn't even care who was holding it there, it just felt so wonderful –

"Honey, you just let it out. It's just you and me here right now."

The perfume swam around her and she knew it was Gemma Morrow, the woman's cool hand circling her back, muttering nice calming things while keeping the cloth in place.

Not feeling entirely alone helped a lot, actually. She let Gemma crowd her in to a good motherly hug; not crying anymore, just soaking in the acceptance and support.

"I'm sorry honey," Gemma was muttering. "I'm sorry you went through this bullshit again. We're going to take good care of you, okay?"

Valerie was nodding along, wiping tears from her face. When she felt steadier she sat up, sighing heavily and giving Gemma rueful smile. "Thanks. Sorry."

Gemma shook her head. "Trust me. It's okay. There's a lot of shit flying around here lately. This is just one more thing, and women have always been able to handle one more thing, darling."

It took a lot to convince Tig that he hadn't done anything wrong. Even then he'd insisted that it be Gemma that drove Valerie home, accompanied by Juice; a young-looking Son with a Mohawk and scalp tattoos. When Valerie asked Tig specifically to come with them he insisted that he had other things to take care of, but that he'd be by to check on her. It didn't sting, but she felt terrible for scaring him.

And that what it had done: his face went back to that still, calm and far too cold expression that a lot of people had likely seen right before he hurt them. It might not have been directed at _her _but Valerie had shivered nonetheless.

Now, sitting behind Gemma in the black Cadillac Escalade as it rolled closer and closer to her home, her palms started to sweat. She tried to ignore it but as the SUV pulled to her block she was breathing through her mouth and wiping her hands on the scrubs. Her heart was somewhere in her throat, making swallowing painful. When the vehicle stopped at the curb she felt like she might be having a full-on panic attack.

_It's just a house, it didn't do anything to you_.

Her hands fumbled on the door latch, and she heard Gemma unfasten her own seatbelt. "I'll come in with you, Val."

"I'll uh, I'll stay here," Juice offered from behind the wheel, his tone strangely comforting. He didn't know what to make of this girl shit and he wasn't about to impose on either of them.

Having someone next to her made Valerie feel better, even though she knew Gemma wouldn't be camping over or anything. Maybe once she was inside she'd feel differently.

Gemma had keys for the new locksets, and Valerie held the strange slabs of metal as she made her way up the walkway. She pushed the front door open, the familiar smell of her place washing over her. Along with … soap? Floor cleaner?

Her living room was the same. She made her way to the kitchen, noticing a yellow slip of paper on the counter. It was a note from Teresa that read _I've cancelled all appointments for the week. Let me know if you need anything else, or if you want more time off._

Valerie's nose prickled and her eyes watered. To think she'd thought she was all alone …

"Everything okay, honey?"

Valerie looked up to see Gemma in the entryway, leaning on the wall, sunglasses in hand. Valerie nodded, smiling in response. "I think so."

Gemma nodded, turning to leave. "You need anything just let me know, kiddo. We take care of our own."

Valerie was about to remind Gemma that she _wasn't _one of "their own," but she just let it sit. Cutting ties with this group would require moving far, far away and she was here because she was sick of running.

Despite the events of the past couple days, she had to admit she still felt safe here. Whether or not that was because she currently had the goodwill of a killer she couldn't say. But it likely didn't hurt, either.


	17. Chapter 17

There were still bullet holes in the sheetrock of the hallway, but any blood had been cleaned up. The bed was stripped so she had put it back together her first night home before turning in. The sheets had been left in her dryer. She had no idea who would have done her laundry until she remembered the note. It had to have been Teresa.

Other than that, it was as though she'd never left. To look at the house, anyway. Valerie knew her own head was another story.

Days passed as she was comfortably wrapped in her home, everyone leaving her alone for the time being. The swelling in her eye gave way to a hideous green-and-purple bruise. Her ribs toughened up again, her muscles healed. The last physical part to heal was the most tender part of her anatomy. _That_ and her own concern for her mental well-being.

She didn't like feeling … _better. _Not yet. She knew people took a long time to come back from this and develop a trust in people again.

Tig phoned her to check in, not stopping by though. She still felt horrible for scaring him but he tried his best to make her laugh on each call and it usually worked. Gemma brought her supper nearly every night, dropping it off and not staying, giving her space.

She tried not to notice the odd sighting of a familiar black van parked across the street. It wasn't there _permanently_, just occasionally. She had a watcher. Sometimes she could see that it was the kid named Juice, usually it was some other Son she didn't recognize. The fast she didn't recognize them didn't scare her; she knew who they represented and it did feel like Tig was taking care of her still on some level.

It all helped in some way. She could ease back into her life, and she _had _to get back to work if for no other reason than the need to eat. She read. She relaxed. The nightmares stopped after two nights, which was a relief.

The day before she was due to start taking on patients again a knock sounded at her front door. Valerie was caught off guard. Who could be visiting unannounced on a Sunday morning?

When she gazed through the peephole she almost thought she must be seeing things. She swung the door inward immediately, feeling her face break in to a grin. Malcolm Gregory was on her doorstep, bag in hand, a big smile on his well-humoured face. He held his arms out and she welcomed the hug; nothing was as healing as the embrace of a good friend.

"Valerie, it's so good to see you."

She stepped back and ushered him inside. Malcolm was a round and shorter man with a well-groomed beard, balding head and rosy complexion. He was always jolly, boisterous, and had looked like a middle-aged barber since he was around twenty-one. But he was an established psychiatrist with a brain for the medical side of head-shrinking, and someone she respected immensely as her mentor and a friend.

"It's good to see you, too. What the hell are you doing here?" She shut the front door and followed him into her living room.

He turned back to her, pointing to her right eye. "It has a lot to do with that, I'm sure."

That gave Valerie pause. "What are you talking about?"

"I got a call a few days ago from one Alexander Trager, who I remember you recommending me to. He was demanding that I come here to see you."

Her head swam for a moment. "Wait – what?"

Malcolm smiled. "I have to admit I'm very curious to meet him. I've never heard someone use so many F-words when asking for a favour."

"He wanted you … to talk to me?"

"Yes. He told me about what happened. Now, I know we went to some dark places when I was treating you before. But this is pretty fresh, and you know very well that you have to be ready to talk. If you're not ready -"

"I know. I think I'll get there before long. Just because I've been there before. I already know it's not my fault. I know that not every man I see is the one that raped me."

"But that could be surface confidence. You need time to … well, you don't need me to tell you this. But I didn't feel I really had the option to not come here, either."

Valerie felt her heart sink. "He didn't threaten you, did he?"

Malcolm waved a hand dismissively. "Not in so many words. But like I said, I was terribly curious. You know how few true Alpha males I run into in my line of work?"

Valerie moved to pour him a cup of coffee. "I don't know about Alpha male. In some circles he could be, but in this world he's not the pack leader."

"Jesus, I can't imagine the pack leader then." Malcolm sat at the breakfast bar, waggling eyebrows.

"Malcolm. I don't think this will be a visit that will end up with you getting laid."

"Oh, I know. But I was so very curious as to the man that made poor little Valerie lose her way."

Valerie frowned as she put a coffee in front of him. "I _didn't _lose my way. Entirely."

"So … how is this Trager attached to what happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Malcolm gave her his _come on now_ face. "You went many years without incident, this fellow comes along and now … here we are. You look like a prize fighter and I know worse was done. Yet _he's_ the one calling me here, not you."

Valerie had never told Malcolm her entire past. He knew she'd been hurt and left for dead by people who had something _against _her parents. He didn't know about her parents' affiliations. He didn't even know about witness protection.

"So spill. About everything you're comfortable discussing, that is." Malcolm said with agonizing reasonableness.

"Let's sit in the living room if you're going to profile me."

"I've already profiled you years ago."

"I know. But you need a brush up."

"Clearly!"

Malcolm carried his mug to her sofa, setting it on the coffee table. Valerie curled up in her favourite chair, cradling her cup to her chest.

"So what's on your mind?"

She took a deep breath. "Not much. I feel like I'm still a bit numb at times. It's very fresh and yet I'm not … I'm not as _upset _as I think I should be."

"How did you expect to feel by this point?"

Valerie sighed. "I don't know. Still scared. Terrified."

"But you're not?"

She shook her head. "Nope. I'm furious. That much I know. I feel like I could hurt someone. If I had the chance to hurt those men … I would likely be capable of very, very terrible things."

"Does _that _reaction concern you?"

She shook her head. "No. Isn't that weird?"

"You know very well that there's no standard reaction to personal and physical trauma. Why are you worried by your lack of _fear_?"

She knew the answer. It made her want to cry, actually. "I'm not scared of them because the next time I hear about them … they'll be dead."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're sure about that?"

She just nodded.

"Are you worried about them dying?"

She took a shuddering breath. "I'm mad that I won't be the one to do it."

"Jesus, Val."

"Don't say that! You're not supposed to imply I'm crazy."

He smiled. "I'm not. I'm just surprised to hear you so … vehement."

"Have you ever been assaulted? Even someone just punching you or something?"

He shook his head. "I never even got in a fight on the playground."

"They came into my house when I was sleeping. They raped me. Which is making me more _angry _than scared right now. They didn't even steal anything. Malcolm, they were here _just _to hurt me. It wasn't an after-thought to their evening's plans. That's _why_ they were here."

"And you think this Trager is going to kill them?"

"I know he will. He wants to."

"Have you slept with him?"

"Shit Malcolm -"

He held his hands up in defence. "I'm sorry – I'm _sorry_! But I have to know."

She frowned. "I've slept next to him, actually. But we haven't had _sex_, if that's what you're asking."

"When was this sleep-over?"

"Why?"

"When was it? I just want to know."

"He slept on my couch one night. After he's had a ... bad night. Then there was the night after I was attacked. The guys let me stay at their clubhouse. He stayed with me."

"Did you want him there?"

"What?"

"Whose idea was it?"

"For him to sleep next to me?"

"_Yes_." He was getting lightly but amusedly annoyed with her.

"Mine," she said, confused.

"Well, Valerie. That's huge. You trust him. Implicitly. Like a long-term relationship. That's pretty special. It's like you had a close bond before this event occurred, and he was a comfort to you."

She shook her head. "It's a disaster. I can't …"

"I mean, you've let someone get very close to you. That's always been difficult for you."

All of SAMCRO knew more about her than her old friend really did. She had a twinge of guilt over that, even if their knowledge had been beyond her doing.

Yet without all the details Malcolm was still fucking right.

"Are you afraid of him?"

"Tig?" Malcolm just nodded. She shook her head slowly. "No. I'm not. Again, that _should _be what I feel."

"Why?"

She laughed. "This isn't from some bad-boy fantasy I've been harbouring for years. He kills people." She rubbed her face. "Shit, I shouldn't have just said that. Pretend I didn't."

Malcolm waved a hand. "It's struck from the record, I swear."

Valerie sighed. "But I've seen … well, he _showed _me what it really does tohim." She took a sip of tea, mouth suddenly dry. "He's got some real darkness to him. It's not to appear tough or get women all worked up. He's been through a lot."

Malcolm smiled sadly. "So have you, Val."


	18. Chapter 18

It turned out Valerie's office was booked for a patient consult that afternoon, which she found out through Malcolm. Tig, not being sure if he'd "like" Malcolm, suggested convincingly that Malcolm should check in on Val _and _it would give Tig a change to meet this new therapist here on his own turf – so to speak. Valerie didn't think he'd meant to suggest her property was his turf, just Charming itself.

She tried to ignore the thrill it gave her knowing that she'd see Tig that day. With Malcolm expressing out loud what she'd already been slowly realizing on her own, it felt like maybe … it was okay; the whole thing, her feelings for him anyway. Nothing could excuse the fact that he'd started as her patient, but there had been some extremely extenuating circumstances since then.

Valerie wanted to see him again with her own perspective now fully realized and accepted. It might be good, it might change everything.

Christ, she really missed him, actually. It had been days …

The very thought that he had been worried enough to call one of her head-shrinker friends out of pure concern for _her _washed away doubts. He cared about her. Even worse: she really liked the man. She really _really _did. So much so she tried to cover up her damaged eye with makeup. A lost cause but it camouflaged most of the purple. Feeling ridiculous she even changed into nicer jeans and a top that fit a little tighter. She didn't question her comfort level, or her need to look nice for him. It still felt normal to react that way.

Of course Malcolm found it wildly hilarious to watch her fret and fidget in anticipation of seeing Tig. She tried to hide it, but in the back of her mind was a nagging doubt. What if she'd really freaked him out? What if he'd completely changed his mind? God, that thought _really _hurt suddenly.

They used the separate entrance for her office. She sat in her living room trying to read and enjoy a glass of iced tea but she was still flitting around like she'd forgotten to do something. It was one of the longest hours of her life.

When she heard the outside door open and close, then the door off the kitchen open she got to her feet but only Malcolm was at that door. He smiled at her, but it was strained. She was instantly concerned.

"Is everything okay? Did he freak you out?"

Malcolm barked out a laugh. "Him? No. I don't think so. He's an interesting case, you're right." He shook his head. "He's fascinating, actually. I've never met someone who I think is a sociopath one minute and just a broken man the next. He's an open book."

She nodded. "Yeah. It's all there. He doesn't hide behind much." She crossed her arms. "So … do you think he'll accept you as his doctor?"

Malcolm laughed again. "Oh Val, honey, he isn't considering it. He conceded that I wasn't 'so bad,' but honestly Val, he wouldn't tell me anything. He just wanted to know that you were okay."

She put her hand on his arm. "Hey, you seem off."

He met her gaze finally, shaking his head. "I like him. I mean, he's even sort of funny. But he scares me. The fact that you feel safe with him is so shocking. You've never seemed more like a big badass to me then you do right now."

She had to chuckle, too. "I'm not a badass, Malcolm. Trust me."

"I know you, Valerie. You're plenty tough, believe me."

She could only smile. "Well, I'm glad you got along at least."

Malcolm squeezed her elbow. "He hasn't left yet. He's in the driveway. You should go see him."

"Yeah?" She momentarily hated sounding so bloody happy about it, but then she decided it didn't matter.

"Yeah."

Valerie tried her best to be composed as she headed for the front door and down the front steps of her home, but her heart was starting to race just a little bit. As she came around the front corner of the garage and saw him leaning against his bike, looking very big and dark and _Tig_, her chest tightened. She caught her breath.

He looked up, and his face cracked that odd, wry smile. "Hey Val. I think I like your friend but -" She cut him off by hugging him. It took him by surprise and he basically froze on the spot, then he hugged her back. "What's this for?" he asked after a moment.

She pulled back, feeling her stomach tightening up and hating her hands for shaking. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

That surprised him, too. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about. You didn't have to deal with all this _stuff_ but you did. And I appreciate it."

He looked down, took her hands in his and swallowed hard. "You don't have to thank me for anything. You've done a lot for me, too. Beyond your _job_. And you know I'm right." She smiled, watching him play with her hands. When she looked up he did too, and he grinned again. "You feeling up to a ride?"

She raised both eyebrows. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Why not? Fresh air? Get out of town for an hour or so. I know you're comfortable on a bike."

Valerie really wanted to. And she wasn't scared, she was more _worried_ about the discomfort of riding. "You'll have to take it easy on me, Tig. I just got beat up."

His smile widened. "Baby, I'll be so gentle I promise you won't feel a thing."

She shook her head. "Let me get my shoes and a helmet."

"You have your own?"

She turned back to him, smiling. "I didn't tell you?"

"What?"

She just held up a finger. "Stay right there."

Inside the front door she pushed a button to open the garage door, pulled on running shoes and grabbed her riding jacket off its hook. When she used the interior door and entered the garage he was standing next to her dad's bike, hands on his hips, looking it over.

"You mean to tell me _you _ride this thing?"

She pulled the jacket on, nodding. "Yeah. Why?"

"Kinda big. For a … _girl_." He let it sound ridiculous. It made her laugh.

"It was my dad's. I just … learned to handle it."

"Hey. Why do you have your dad's bike? Can't they find you through that?"

She smiled, touched he was still first and foremost worried about her. She shook her head. "The VIN on that was never registered to my father." He gave her an odd look. "What? I've known some criminals in my time."

He laughed at that, a sound that did her a world of good. "So … you don't wanna ride your own?" His tone told her he was hoping she'd ride with him.

"Nah," she said, pulling her helmet off the wall. "I'd rather ride bitch with a big, bad biker."

He tilted his head. "What the hell are you on? Pain meds?"

She shrugged. "I feel good. I feel really good today."

"So this is you not as my Doc anymore?"

She nodded.

"I like it."

"Careful," she warned. "Big bad biker, not a nice guy. Remember?"

"Honey, I'm the biggest softie you'll ever meet." He slid his sunglasses on with his oddest smile and she couldn't help but laugh.

Helmet and jacket in place she climbed on to the bike behind him, hands on his sides. She laughed when he took her wrists, pulled her forward against his back and linked her hands on his stomach.

She was smiling as the engine was kick-started, her cheek pressed against his back. The bike was loud and it rumbled with authority; a sound that took her back many, many years. He walked them backwards to the street, then with a loud roar they were off down her very, very quiet avenue, dodging around a Sunday driver who decided to pull away from the curb without a shoulder-check.

For just a moment she panicked. Her grip tightened around Tig and she squeezed her eyes shut, lump in her throat. Without so much as a flinch they were around the sedan, not losing velocity, barely a noticeable manoeuvre. She exhaled, almost laughing at her own reaction.

For a moment he let go with one hand to pat her clenched fists, and she was smiling wider at the reassurance.

Charming gave way to desert highways, and that's when Tig opened the throttle to show her what the bike could do. Power poles and desert grass flew by in a blur. The more distance between the town limits and them the better.

Valerie felt that breathing was easier, which couldn't be true when a person's on the back of a speeding motorcycle. Yet her shoulders relaxed, her mind cleared, and she was just _free_.

It could have fifteen minutes, it could have been forty-five. When Tig stopped it was to pull into some kind of point-of-interest turn out. There was a high railing over a sharp cliff drop. Valerie had never been there.

He kicked out the stand and waited for her to climb off before swinging his own long leg over the back. "How are you feeling?"

She pulled her helmet off, shaking out her hair, hoping it wasn't flat as hell. "Good. This is probably just what I needed."

He took her helmet, leaving them both on the bike. "You're not … hurting?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

"And how's your eye?"

"I think it's okay. The swelling's gone." She smiled up at him, letting him walk right up to her so their leather caught. He took his sunglasses off, eyes lit with plenty of concern.

Tig put a hand under her chin, tilting her face upward. "The sight of this pisses me off."

She pulled her face away. "I know. Me too."

He caught her chin again, but gently. His thumb touched the bruise just slightly, his face wincing like it was _his _eye socket that stopped a fist four times over.

Valerie couldn't look away from his eyes. Like this he had no anger, no rage, no danger; just completely honest concern. With everything he'd gone through these last months he was handling her like his world wasn't in ruins.


	19. Chapter 19

"Are you scared of me right now?" He muttered, still holding her in place with just one hand.

"No."

"I really want to kiss you."

"You can," she offered weakly.

He shook his head. "Should that wait?"

Valerie did step away then, walking to the railing that prevented people from tumbling down a cragged cliff face.

"What is it? I said something wrong."

She shook her head. "No, it's fine. I was worried that if it really came down to it you might change your mind."

He caught her arm and turned her to face him. "What the hell does that mean?"

She shook her head, a cold lump in her stomach. "This is messy and complicated, Tig. This is serious. And real." She pointed to her black eye. "It's very messy. You're right."

"That's not what I meant, Val. I'm worried about _you_. I don't want to push the issue. Ask you to go places you're not ready to go."

"I know you'd never force me into anything …"

He shook his head, annoyed. "I can't even pretend I can relate to what's been done here. And this isn't some 'shame the victim' bullshit, so park that shit right now."

She was taken aback; muted by his sharp tone.

"I may be a bad guy but I'd never do that to anyone who's been hurt. Especially you, Val."

"You're not a bad guy, Tig."

He held up a hand, silencing her. "Yeah, I am. You _know _I am. I've told you plenty. And I don't go in for that self-affirming bullshit, either, so keep it for your office."

She crossed her arms. "Sorry, I can't keep up. _Why _are you mad at me?"

He stopped, his face incredulous. "You just implied I might not want you because of what happened. That pisses me off."

This felt like a real fight that couples actually had in real life. Like the sharing of feelings in an actual grown-up way.

"The question _I _have is; why the hell do you want to have anything to do with me? Why would me_ not_ jumping you right here and now make you upset?"

She blinked. _Fuck_. He'd been taking notes during their sessions, apparently.

"There's something wrong with me," she blurted.

He nodded, pacing and pointing at the ground to emphasis his argument. "Yeah. You're not dealing with _your _shit. There's more to you than fucking, Val. Some girls I expect this bullshit from. Throwing a fit if you don't notice them. Not you, Val. I never expect that from you, and I don't _want _that from you."

Val felt like a child getting shit, and the worst part was she knew she needed to hear it. She wasn't dealing with _anything _and, even worse, she was acting like a toddler.

Her reaction horrified her. She burst into tears.

"Fuck."

She shook her head at the regret in his tone. "No," she blubbered, "I deserve that. All of it. I keep _thinking _it's just going to be okay, but I don't know why or how. It's like I'm waiting for someone to just fix it all."

"I would if I could."

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "I know. I know you would. And I'm sorry if I implied you were an asshole."

With the face of a best friend he approached her, arms wide. She stepped into the hug, liking how familiar it was to have him holding her.

"Well, I _am _an asshole," he said with the perfect amount of humour. "But I care too much about you to see you falling apart."

"I _do_ need time," she muttered, cheek pressed to his leathers.

"Okay," he conceded, like that was what he was waiting for. It made her smile.

She looked up at him, wanting to see his eyes. They would always be shocking and so icy blue it hurt, but they could also be so tender and caring, as they were right then.

Valerie realized she had no idea how old he was. His date of birth was in his form but she'd never figured out the math.

She also realized she didn't care in the least. The lines on his face could intimidate but crinkle with worry or amusement just as easily. There was more than intimidation in his look; those eyes were smart and knowing and she could put her trust in this man.

Those baby blues flicked downward, she assumed to her mouth. She felt a flicker of warmth, wishing that she hadn't pushed the issue of a kiss. He might have just done it if she hadn't been such a mess about it –

He _did _kiss her. It wasn't the toe-curling lip-lock she thought she'd wanted; the kind that shut her brain off completely. It was that painstakingly tender pressure of his mouth on hers. It left her open to step away if she wanted to, she could pull away at any moment. Jesus, it was absolutely perfect.

She took her hands in his, pulling them down from where they lightly sat on her shoulders, and put them on her hips instead. Permission granted, his hands tightened, kneading a spot that most women would rather forget was even there. She didn't mind. There was still space between them and he wasn't crowding her. Nowhere near as much as she wanted him to.

His hand found her tattoo again, and as his thumbed traced over that pronounced scar she … well, convulsed. She pulled her face back, shying from his hand in one sudden motion.

She was mortified. She tried to stammer and apology as he ran a hand down his face, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking anywhere but at him.

"Don't be sorry. Please don't be sorry. I am."

She shook her head. "I thought this would be like before. But it's not. This is completely different from when I was younger."

He took her hands, standing before her and gazing at her … well, soulfully. With anyone else she would have been uncomfortable. "You talk with your friend. Talk with me. Whatever makes you feel better." He leaned in, that oddly flirtatious smile back. "And whenever you need to test your progress, I'm here."

Her cheeks actually coloured, and that heat flickered through her again, and she wished he could have that effect while he was actually_ touching_ her. But she'd take what she could get.

"Let's get you back," he finally said, steering her back to his bike. "Before your friend calls the cops."

Valerie laughed. "Thank you for not scaring the shit out of Malcolm, by the way."

Tig shrugged, handing her a lid then fastening on his own. "He seems like an okay guy."

Valerie nodded. "He is. I've known him a long time. He was _my _therapist for a while."

"Is he … you know?" He gave her the back-and-forth palm flap, and she laughed.

"Are you asking me if he's gay?"

"Is he?"

"Would it matter?"

He made his _whatever _face. "It ain't like it's illegal."

That made her smile. "Yeah, he's gay. He's brilliant and intuitive and caring and gay."

He swung one long leg over the bike and she followed, holding on to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You get it then," he said obscurely.

"Get what?"

"You get what it's like when people completely accept and understand. That's what my brothers are like to me."

Valerie leaned in to his back, rubbing her hands on his stomach in that reassuring way. "I accept you too, Tig. I'm here for you, too."

He gave a wry smile over his shoulder which she only caught half of before he slid the dark shades back in place. "Thanks babe." Then he rose up, dropped down and with a kick-start the motor roared to life. The next thing she knew the countryside was flying by and she was back to feeling light and floaty.


	20. Chapter 20

Windows. Clean windows would take her mind off a certain leather-clad biker with crystal blue eyes, sardonic manner and unhinged sexual attraction.

Not to mention her own personal traumas, but then again, she'd been dealing with that so long it was like a pair of old socks she refused to get rid of even though they were worn through and not doing her any favours. She still felt like she needed to hang onto it for some reason. Self-punishment? She hoped not.

It had been dusty so far that summer, and she was up a ladder in her front flower beds when a low rumble sounded down the street; so loud she could swear she felt it rock the ground and shake the aluminum rungs she stood on. She turned, excited and hopeful, to see a different bike and a slightly smaller rider pull into her driveway. When he removed his helmet she was surprised to see Chibbs. She gave him a small wave and climbed down the ladder, drying her hands on the towel she'd been using on her squeegee.

"Hi," she said, approaching the man with a friendly smile. He'dbeen kind to her after the attack, and the way he'd spoken to her when they first met left her feeling quite comfortable with him.

"Doctor Turner," he returned, swinging a leg over the back of the bike as he dismounted. The twinkle in his eye was boyish.

"What brings you to my neighbourhood?"

He scanned the front of her house, frowning. "What the hell are 'ya doing?"

She looked back at the house, then at the squeegee in her hand. "Cleaning windows," she said, slowly.

"Why don't you just wait for rain?"

She laughed only when she realized he was stone-cold serious. "Well, there's a lot of dust. It makes the windows spotty."

He shook his head. "Well then. To each 'er own. Seems like a waste of water and effort to me."

She shook her head. "What would you like, Chibbs?"

He smiled now, head titled. "Do you need help with the windows?"

Now it was her turn to frown like something didn't make sense. "What? No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I could do those ones down there if you only have one ladder."

She looked at the ground-floor windows of the basement. "You didn't come here to clean windows."

He shrugged. "I came here to see if you needed anything. I've got nothing planned."

Valerie was at a loss. This was so incredibly strange. "I can clean my own windows. But I _am _very curious as to why you're here and, so you know, I don't believe you at all."

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Actually, I was close by and nature called. Can I use your washroom?"

She still didn't believe it completely, but she relented. "Sure. Follow me. I was going to get an iced tea anyway. You want one?"

"Sure. May as well fill the tank I'm emptying, right?"

She laughed and led him through the side door, through her kitchen and down the hall to her washroom. Then she went back to the kitchen and pulled out the jug of sun tea she'd a couple days before, pouring two glasses over ice. She left one on the counter then went out the patio door to the deck, knowing her Scottish visitor would find her easily.

He did. He stepped through the glass doors, draining the glass already, and sat on the Adirondack chair while she perched on the side of a sun lounger. He smiled at her over the rim of the glass before lowering it casually between his knees.

"This is a really nice neighbourhood," he noticed, looking around over the fences of her neighbours. "Quiet, but nice."

She had to laugh that he noticed how quiet it was, just as Tig had. Were they all so uncomfortable with tranquility?

The following silence was loaded and odd. She sipped her iced tea slowly as he watched her, those brown eyes never leaving her face. Finally, she had to ask.

"What are you doing here? Really?"

There was a flash were he looked almost embarrassed, then he got to his feet. "Just the washroom love, I swear it."

She stood too, taking the glass he held out. "Oh. Well, glad I could help."

He just stood there smiling. She returned it, but her skin tightened up. Something was weird here. His eyes ran over her face and she swallowed, a little too scared to ask again what the hell was going on.

He stepped to her, and before she could say or do another thing he'd grasped her by the face with both hands and pressed cold, tea-flavoured lips to hers.

Valerie was shocked, frozen in place for a second. It wasn't until she felt his tongue on her lips she stepped back, shoving at him with both hands, which also happened to be holding glasses. The one he'd emptied slid from her grip, hit the deck boards and spilled its ice.

"Shit," she muttered, frazzled. She stooped to pick up the glass, her hands shaking. What the hell was this now?

He dropped to one knee to help her. When she inadvertently looked up she caught him watching her again, eyes dropping to the V-neck of her shirt. She backed up, letting him grab the glass, and got to her feet again. He stood too, and she could almost feel his eyes sliding up over her as he did. She took another step back, but he was striding towards her. In the afternoon sunshine she felt a cool calm trickle over her skin. Her legs hit the lounger, unwilling to let her back up any further.

He had a hand on her hip, and she tried to push him off politely but he wasn't backing off. She wasn't panicking because nothing about him seemed too terribly insistent.

When he kissed her again she didn't hesitate to stop him. She pushed him off immediately, then did something completely unthinkable.

Valerie punched him. She caught his jaw, and her hand was aching like a bitch but it backed him off her, and he held his jawline, eyes wide with shock. He was breathing hard, and she held a hand out as though expecting him to come at her again. Still no all-consuming panic; as though she really didn't believe he was physically interested in her in the least.

She couldn't say how long they stood like that. Eventually she felt she had to break the quiet. "I'm sorry," she began, "but I'm not … I'm not here for everyone's amusement. I'm not one of those girls."

The standoff lasted another moment, then his eyes twinkled again and he broke down into a broad, contagious laughter that she fought the urge to join in on.

When he stopped laughing he was nodding. "Good. Very good." He leaned in as though sharing a secret. "That's the right answer, by the way."

Then he was gone through the patio door. She was aware of the front door closing, the bike on her driveway eventually rumbling to life and shaking her out of her stunned state of voluntary coma. She hadn't moved, she just tried to compute this odd event.

"Nah." She muttered to herself. "Couldn't be."

There was no way the club was testing her, was there? Just checking to make sure she wasn't a good-time girl, right? The thought was pretty terrible considering what had happened to her. Although she _had_ been at ease around the Scot since she met him. Valerie had felt no real fear, even as he'd put his hands on her. She'd almost sensed it was a set-up. At the very least she knew he wasn't going to hurt her.

Although, they'd have no reason to go through all this unless Tig had decided to tell the club he was interested in her. Otherwise they had no basis to make sure she was on the up-and-up. Even if they were actually just … testing the waters. It's not like she and Tig were _together_-together.

So strange. She returned to the ladder in her front yard, very confused, with something else nagging her at the back of her head as well.

It was the possibility that Tig Trager perhaps _had _staked her out as his. Christ, that was a hell of a thought; one that didn't scare or worry her.

Actually, the thought made her smile.


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanks for all your kind reviews and comments!**

**I think you guys are going to like the next few chapters ... **

* * *

Valerie certainly wasn't going to tell Tig about the visit with Chibbs. If anything she didn't want to be the one to initiate man-drama. Starting fights wasn't something she got off on. And she wasn't really _with_ Tig, was she? Her own uncertainly meant she wasn't going to push that thought at him

But if she saw that Scot again she was going to give him a piece of her mind and then some.

She awoke from a strange dream, one muddled with vague thoughts of Tig that she couldn't recall when conscious. All she knew was her heart was beating fast, she was warm all over, and felt like she was blushing for some unknown reason. Valerie blinked, the ceiling over her bed was dancing with sunlight, cut by the bobbing branches of the tree outside her window, taking a deep breath and smiling in spite of herself. Erotic dreams for the past week with no nightmares. That was good.

Valerie dragged her carcass into the kitchen to make coffee. She was starting back at work again, and this was going to require some good, strong caffeine.

The first patients of the day were the McClouds, a lovely couple still dealing with Mrs. McCloud's infidelity ten years ago with her old high school sweetheart. Valerie couldn't keep them on track. They kept offering their sympathies, wanting to talk about what happened to _her_.

That was a no-go, obviously. But she couldn't get them on the topic of _them_. It wasn't a big worry; their therapy had been going very well. Mrs. McCloud had apologized many times over, reaffirming that her love for her husband was never-ending and the most solid, valuable thing she had. He accepted her apology and would try to pay more attention to her.

Inevitably it all came back to, "But what about _you_, Valerie? Are you okay?"

She would smile, shake her head. "Thank you. I'm fine. We're here to talk about _you_."

She shorted them ten minutes on their hour. She felt guilty but they wouldn't stop asking her about everything that happened.

So it went for weeks. A few patients dropped off her list completely, and she guessed that her _affiliations _kept them away. It _did, _however, bring around a whole new demographic that she wasn't expecting.

Malcolm had been right. True or not, people thought she was a badass.

Younger couples were coming to her with stranger issues than she was used to. Not strange; she couldn't really bring herself to see them that way.

"He said he wanted to ask another woman to join us, the problem was it was my best friend. I'm a little worried why he had _her _in mind. Right off the bat."

"I don't get her fascination with my feet. It makes me uncomfortable."

"I'd like her tie me down sometimes. I kind of like it. Can you tell her that she _should_?"

"Is it strange if he prefers to do it when the dog _is _watching?"

Conversations about fetishes and threesomes were _not _what she expected to have in her office. They were fun sessions, though. The people were open, willing to tell her what was bothering them right off the bat. She saw more tattoos and piercings this way, too.

Everyone thought she was bedding one of the Sons of Anarchy on a regular basis. Valerie's street credit went through the roof almost overnight.

Teresa's reaction to their new clientele was comical. She even took to locking up her purse in her desk. Thankfully she was never outright rude. She just thought Valerie was insane for having _fun_ with them.

Perhaps Teresa was also being protective of her, as close to a friend as she was. It would have made sense; people came here to blatantly talk about their sex lives. Teresa couldn't have understood that Valerie actually found it comforting to just hear that big bad _it_ discussed as though she had no reason to be afraid of it. What happened to her _wasn't _sex, after all. It was a crime. It shouldn't have any more in common with these people's issues than her car being stolen. It was just a little bit more closer and personal and left more damage behind.

Valerie _was_ healing, beyond the fading of physical bruises. She hadn't seen Tig at all since her ride on his bike, so she couldn't be sure she was physically more comfortable around anyone in that way. She hadn't seen anyone from the club at all since Chibbs' very odd visit. The van was no longer watching out for her on the street outside her house.

When Valerie was alone it was all too easy to slip into her own thoughts, which were inevitably about Tig. She'd always come back to herself with a small smile on her face and her pulse slightly racing.

Fantasy-wise, she thought she might be ready. In real life she had no idea. When she thought too long and hard on it, convincing herself it was still _too soon_, she couldn't be sure if that _did _come from her own state of mind or some kind of built-in, textbook analysis that was recommending a "one-year hiatus from any and all sexual contact lest the damage worsen."

Scared of Tig? She tried to be. Then she'd remember him holding her when she cried. Angrily telling her to pull her shit together. Pulling his hands off of her the second she seemed uncomfortable.

No. Those were certainly not the actions of a person she needed to be afraid of for her own personal safety.

It was nearly a month after the ride in the desert that she was putting away her freshly-folded laundry when an all-too familiar banging sounded at her front door. Night was just falling, and evening company was not what she expected. But that loud, aggressive beating on the solid-wood door could only be one person. She felt a familiar thrill run through her blood, smiling at herself in her dresser mirror. The very possibility that it was Tig Trager at her door had her glowing.

Life certainly took some strange turns.

She bounded to the front door, willing herself to not grin like a twit when she pulled it open. When he saw her, he took a moment to smile at her, too. Then she was on him.

She flung her arms around his neck, and he was already reaching for her. His hands on her back were tight and hard, and when he kissed her it wasn't tender in the least. His lips pressed hers hotly and his tongue worked against hers almost fiercely. She gave herself over to it, want rushing to all parts of her body. Her mind went blank, she wasn't remembering _anything_. All she could feel was this right now.

He broke the embrace, leaning his forehead to hers, wiping her bottom lip with his thumb. His eyes were closed, and she hated to break whatever spell was spinning here but she had to say it. "I missed you."

He opened those ice-blue eyes, smiling down at her. "Christ, I like hearing that. I missed you, too Val."

That brought on a second kiss, no less passionate than the first, which had her breathing ragged when he stopped long enough to clasp her face with both hands. "Val, you trust me, don't you?"

There was a trembling low in her belly and she closed her eyes when she answered. "Yes, I do."

Jesus, could she actually sleep with him this very night? Was she capable of that?

"Then can you not to ask questions until we get where we're going?"

Her eyes flew open and she frowned. "What?"

"Can you just … trust me for the next few minutes?"

"Why? What's happened?"

"I just need you to trust me, Val."

He was calm, well, other than the fact he was breathing a little hard. She flattered herself by assuming that was because of _her _and nothing to do with this super-secret mission of his.

He smiled slowly, and it set of flickers of heat throughout certain parts of her. "Now who's asking someone to blindly trust them?"

"Touché," she muttered. "Are we going right now?"

"We have to. And … I have to blindfold you."

She swallowed. "Why?"

He stepped away, letting go of her and reaching in to his back pocket. She shied away but all he pulled out was a strip of black fabric. "The less you know the better," he said quietly, head low while he looked up at her. "Trust me in this, Val."

Valerie was staring at the blindfold as he twisted it in both hands. She tried to bring up fear but it just wasn't there. "Okay. I trust you."

He stepped closer again, running the front of his finger down her throat. She had no idea the side of her windpipe was quite that erotic –

His lips brushed on hers softly, then he was tying the fabric over her eyes.

She talked him through finding her keys. He took her hand and led her down the steps before helping her up into a high vehicle. He sat next to her on the bench seat, his hand clasping hers, thumb tracing lightly on the back of her hand. Knowing he was with her kept her calm, even though she had no idea where she was.

Tig was here. She was safe.

When the vehicle stopped he helped her down to gravel, leading her across uneven ground, up three wooden steps, then through a doorway. This building was musty and smelled of damp dust, the floor was bare wood. She stayed where she was while Tig let go of her hand, moved in front of her and his hands unfastened the blindfold. While she blinked against the golden light he rubbed a hand down each of her arms, bringing her eyes off the room to rest on his again.

"Now stay calm. Are you with me?"

She nodded, a strange stillness coming over her as he spoke with eerie composure.

"Good. Now listen. I'm going to tell you where I've been. We found 'em, Val. We found the guys that broke in to your place."

The world titled slightly, and she swayed on her feet, hands clasping his vest as she looked for signs he was maybe kidding. He wasn't. She took a deep breath.

"They're here right now. With us."

Yep, full-on cranial tilt. She had to close her eyes, leaning in on him. "We'll do whatever you want, Val. You want to hand 'em over to the cops, we'll do it. You want them dead, I'll do it. Or you can do it. Whatever you want, babe."

She blinked a couple times, the world suddenly sounding strange and not quite real as she answered, "I want to kill them."


	22. Chapter 22

A large over-sized sweatshirt was pulled on over her head. She struggled to get her right hand in to a latex glove. The GLOCK that was handled to her had no serial number, it had been "stolen" a long time ago. Tig led her to another room in this strange little cabin, knocking once. The door swung inward and Chibbs was there, a black hoodie covering his kutte, too. He didn't offer a greeting, just a bit of a nod at her before turning back into the room.

This smaller room was likely a bedroom at one time. Right now it held two men on their knees, hands restrained behind their backs, fabric shoved in their mouths to keep them quiet. They'd also had the shit beaten out of them. Their shirts were gone, one had a bandage fixed to his upper arm that was peeling away, showing an infected wound of some kind underneath.

Like a gunshot wound that was taking an awfully long time to heal due to lack of proper medical treatment.

Their faces likely wouldn't have been familiar anyway. She never did get a good look at them.

Her eyes found Tig again in the darkened room. "How did you find them?"

"We put out some inquiries. Finally got a lead."

She looked back to them. "Did they ever say who sent them?"

Chibbs answered that one. "They're not talking, love. They're tough shites and we're getting naught from them."

"We had to shoot one," Tig told her, leaning against the wall. "He almost got away. Same gun as the one you're holding."

She made eye contact with the bigger one, with the gunshot. He looked angry, not scared; likely because it was a woman was in front of him with a gun. Even if it _was _a woman he'd harmed, he honestly didn't think she had it in her to kill him.

She brought the barrel up to the cheek of the other one first. He flinched a bit, trying to look down. She used the barrel to hold his head upright, jamming it under his chin, forcing it up until he was looking at her.

He had tears in his eyes. There were sounds coming out of his throat, like he was trying to talk to her. It likely wasn't helpful information, so she just stared back at him.

The room was so quiet except for his mumbling. It sounded more like humming, actually. No one seemed to even be breathing; Val knew _she _wasn't. The guy's eyes kept widening like he thought she might be crazy. He was scared, his eyes begging her to change her mind.

"Val, honey? You all right?"

She didn't look to Tig, she just nodded. "Just making sure he's well aware of what's coming."

The guy was getting hysterical now, not trying to get away from the gun barrel because he _couldn't_. He was crying and sputtering around the rag, and as a smell hit her nose she knew he'd pissed himself.

That's when the brought the gun to his forehead, paused long enough for one last whimper, and pulled the trigger.

It shattered the silence to shit, that was for sure. Her ears were ringing, it kicked her arm up. The back of his head flew across the room, hitting the wall with more than just a wet splat. She could hear bone chips hit the panelling as well. The rest of his body collapsed sideways; dead weight hitting the floorboards in a dull thud.

No one said anything else. She looked up at Tig, and he looked from the body to her. She couldn't read that expression. It seemed like a mixture of sympathy and respect.

The second guy still wasn't as worried. She put the barrel, still hot, to his forehead. He shrieked a bit initially from the burn of it, but once it was gone he stared up at her, quiet, his expression hatred and malice. Not an ounce of fear. He hated her. He could give a fuck.

She was sure the one she'd shot at the time hadn't been interested in raping her. Looking at him now she changed her mind. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd been the first.

He tried to lunge at her. She stepped back, cracking down on his skull with the GLOCK's grip. It had to hurt. The other two men in the room lunged forward too, Chibbs getting there first. He hauled the man back to sitting on his heels, while Tig delivered a nasty hook to his jaw. Not another sound came from the man.

Once Chibbs and Tig were out of the way she stepped forward, levelling the gun back at his head. His eyes crossed as he stared at it, body shaking silently. He was laughing, bloody drool leaking around the gag in his mouth.

Fucker.

She lowered the GLOCK 38 and fired once, her second round hitting him somewhere around the groin. She hoped like hell it took all his junk with it. A .45 caliber round was more than enough to do some serious damage.

_Now _he fucking knew she was there. He howled, falling over sideways, trying to curl up and stop the pain. She heard the other two in the room draw their breath on a hiss in unison, which might have been comical.

Almost, anyway.

Valerie crouched down in front of him, balancing on the balls of her feet. _Now_ he was fucking looking at her, and his eyes told her a lot along the lines of "Please, don't do this."

Perfect. She put the handgun to his temple, pointed downward, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever he was saying was muffled by the gag. Maybe he was praying. It was her turn to not give a shit.

Valerie pulled the trigger, sending her third round right into his head, sending brain and cranial shrapnel out the other side of his head in a crimson burst, actually causing his head to buck against the floor as all that gore tried to rush out and make room so violently.

She stood up, staring down at the corpses she'd just made out of breathing, living men. She could hear a dull whooshing and she realized it was her pulse in her ears, chasing away a shrill ringing from the shots. It was because it was so quiet. No one was saying anything.

Tig was at her side, easing the GLOCK from her hand wordlessly. She let him take it. Chibbs was asking her to hand over the latex gloves.

She snapped them off, doing what she was told. She knew where this was going. She pulled the huge sweatshirt off next and Chibbs dropped it and the gloves onto the pile of human meat.

"We've got this, love," Chibbs said gently, hand on her elbow. "You head to the other room."

She did as told. She strode from the room, through the door way to the front of the cabin. She was numb again, she realized. Her hands weren't shaking. She was rock-steady, solid.

Nope, that was a lie. Suddenly she rushed out the front door of the cabin, off the porch, rounded the front of the building and managed to get to a stand of trees before throwing up. Sweat broke out along her back, under her arms, on her forehead. The smell of gunpowder and stomach bile was mingling in her nose uncomfortably.

She backed away from the mess she'd made, wiping her mouth with her sleeve and cringing, wishing she hadn't just done that to her own damn shirt.

Valerie returned to the steps, sat back down, put her head between her knees and breathed through her mouth a bit. When her pulse stopped thundering in her ears she heard footsteps on the porch behind her, coming down two steps, then a body settling next to her wordlessly.

She raised her head, trying to smooth down her hair and wipe her eyes. Which seemed like it was probably a great waste of effort.

Tig was there, staring out at the big, dark nothing in front of them. He reached into his kutte, produced a flask, unscrewed the top and held it out to her.

She had throw-up mouth but didn't really care. She took a greedy gulp of it, the whiskey burning her throat and making her wince. Thankfully it chased all other foul tastes away, too. She handed it over, but he just pushed it back at her.

After a few quiet minutes he cleared his throat, kept his gaze outward and just asked, "Are you okay?"

Valerie took another smaller swig then nodded. But he didn't see it. "Yeah, I think so."

"I was worried about you doing that."

She shrugged but he still wasn't looking at her. "It's done."

Another long pause.

He startled her by chuckling suddenly. "Jesus Val. That was really cold."

She made a sound of indignation. "What?"

"You shot that guy right in the fucking berries. Fuck, even I was scared of you at that point."

She knew he was trying to lighten the mood. In truth, she found herself even laughing at that. When she realized he was watching her they both started roaring with laughter, until she felt her eyes tearing up.

Fuck, she wasn't laughing. She was cracking up.

He saw the change come and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, huddling her close and falling silent. She stopped laughing, but she didn't exactly cry either. She was just _calm_ again, breathing in his smell and the night air. His hand was smoothing her hair out, and she closed her eyes.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he muttered.

"I'm wondering why I don't feel bad for doing that." She felt him kiss the top of her head. "I feel like I should be remorseful. But I'm not. I'm just … nothing."

"You're in shock, babe."

She shook her head. "Is that what this is?"

"A different kind of shock maybe, but it'll wear off."

The door of the cabin opened and another person joined them on the porch. The stink of gasoline hit her nostrils and she realized how this body disposal was going to go. Tig jostled her shoulder gently, bringing her to her feet.

"Okay. Let's go," was his casual suggestion.

Valerie handed over the flask, which he took this time, and let herself be corralled to the van then loaded in to the back seat. Valerie watched the two men on the porch as they both lit cigarettes, exchanged a few words between puffs, then tossed the lit butts through the front door. Their walk to the van was casual even as the front room of the cabin was engulfed with a roaring rush she could hear from inside the vehicle.

She watched the bright orange flames, so bright against the night sky. The driver's door opened and Chibbs climbed in wordlessly, Tig deciding he was going to sit in the second row with her. He produced the blindfold again, muttering a repeat along the lines of "The less you know the better." She let him cover her eyes, then he cuddled her into his side and held her there the whole way back to Charming.


	23. Chapter 23

Valerie's kitchen was an odd, foreign place suddenly. She knew the cupboards, the floor and countertops, her coffee maker and toaster and chopping board.

She stood in front of her own fridge, staring but not seeing anything. Tig hovered around her, locking the door to the garage, checking all her windows and locks while all she could do was stand and stare.

Her ears rang from the shots. Her arm still tingled from the recoil of the weapon, pins and needles up her arm, the feeling totally different from when she'd defended herself just a month ago. This time her arm had been tensed and ready for it, and the shock and violence of those three discharges had hurt, actually.

Valerie could give a shit. And there was no relief coursing through her body either, because no one was going back in time to undo anything.

She was remembering an earlier retaliation and a room of shocked men as she gunned all five of them down when she was just sixteen. The ones who'd killed her family. She'd left her clothes behind and then took off on her father's bike after, driving herself all the way.

Not this time. She was numb and it was soaking from the crown of her head downwards. Her brain was operating about as quick as oatmeal.

Tig passed behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Val? Babe? You okay? Talk to me, sweetheart. You're scaring me."

She shook herself awake, looking back at him. His brow was furrowed, eyes very serious and concerned. She nodded. "I'm fine. Sorry. I'm ... thinking."

"You want a drink?"

She nodded, disconnected. "There's vodka in the freezer. Juice in the fridge."

She sat down at the breakfast counter on a high stool, still studying the floor tiles while the man in black moved about her bright kitchen, pouring way too much thickened vodka into a tumbler. He handed it to her, and she looked at it. "There's juice, you know."

"Just drink it," he snapped. Tig tipped the bottle to his lips as he turned away from her.

Valerie did as told, wincing as the harsh liquid hit her throat. But as it slid down she kept it coming, swigging it all in one long gulp. She set the glass down, immediately feeling something loosen in her body.

"The fourth man?" she said, cold.

"What?"

"What happened to the other one? If you had to kill one before and only the two were there tonight, where's the other guy?"

Tig shrugged, leaning against the kitchen island, hand on belt. "They wouldn't talk. He's still at large."

"I feel better. Is that bad?"

He shook his head. "Nah, babe. They got what they deserved."

She got up, picked up the glass and carried it back to him. He immediately tipped more vodka into her glass. She brought the glass back to her lips, raised her face to drink and caught him studying her. His head was tilted, jaw jutting to the side, still appearing to be terribly worried.

She remembered that gun being put into her hand. The knowing look saying he'd kill them if she didn't have it in her, or turn them in if that's what she wanted. He hadn't wanted her to take the gun. He wanted to kill them for her, but what _she _had wanted mattered more.

Valerie set her second dose down on the island, took the bottle from his hand and placed it next to her glass. He watched this, confusion apparent between his dark eyebrows.

"You okay, Val?" He wasn't being loud, she realized. His voice, since they got back, had dropped to suit her household's quieter ambience for whatever reason.

"I'm fine," she said softly, moving forward closer still until they were touching. He stopped leaning, standing up straighter.

"Val?"

She pressed her palm to the side of his face. He was incredibly confused. So she kissed him.

He was frozen for a moment, so she eased up and pressed her lips to his again, catching his lower lip between hers then releasing. She stepped even closer so her body was pressed fully to his. When he returned the kiss heat flickered across her chest. She licked his lower lip, and his hands grasped her by the waist.

The thrill shot through her so quickly she nearly swayed; or would have, had he not been holding her so tightly. His tongue slid into her mouth, demanding. The blush on her chest, neck and cheeks went volcanic. His fingers bit into the flesh above her waistband, and she shuddered. Then his tongue was all she knew as it explored hers, tasting and teasing her until she was desperately clutching his shoulders and nearly climbing him just to maintain as much contact as she could.

When he parted their lips, she made a sound of disappointment which was swallowed almost immediately in a gasp as he all but chewed his way from behind her ear down her neck. She shoved her hands in his hair, holding him in place as he scraped his teeth along her collarbone.

It sent shivers and a thrill down her back, bowing her spine and forcing her chest against him. His hands swam over her, studiously exploring her back, her hips, sliding to her stomach and then up to cup a breast, no more. It was enough to make her moan, and as her head fell back to wait for the next move he kissed her again, and when she realized he was just as hungry for her as she was for him she waited to freak out; to lose her mind and shove him off of her.

He wasn't going slow. He had the buttons of her Henley shirt open, trying to get unfettered access to her breasts. He opted to go under at the hem instead but then there was her bra to contend with -

She stepped away, reaching down and grasping the bottom of her shirt, arms crossed as she prepared to slide up upward and off. That's when her first moment of doubt hit. Doubt, not fear.

His breathing was heavy as he watched her with hooded eyes, deceptively lazy in their movement. His hands went back to her hips, wordless, seeming to know she needed a moment. He wasn't going to push it now. He just traced his thumbs across her hipbones, waiting for her unveiling.

That was what it felt like, anyway. He would appreciate the sight of her, bare. He would be grateful and appreciative ...

She pulled the shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor and trying to move back into his arms to get his eyes off of her. It was too bright under the halogen lights of the track system overhead.

He held her back by her hips alone, and she felt her hands moving of their own volition to cover the worst of the white scars that traced across her chest and abdomen. He caught her hands, holding them to the side. She made herself look up at his face, waiting for pity or, slightly better, disgust.

"Val," he breathed, soft as a prayer. "Jesus. You're beautiful."

"I'm not."

"Shut up," he said softly with a chuckle that gave her goose flesh everywhere. "Just let me say it. You're beautiful." One hand let go of hers, his forefinger tracing over a thin scar that ran along the bottom of her ribcage and across her stomach, nearly reaching her bellybutton. The tingles made her close her eyes, exhaling in a rush. His other hand slid around her lower back, pulling her in. But he was looking down at her skin and scars; that finger now following a line across the top of one breast before vanishing inside her bra. He didn't go there though, opting instead to flatten his hand on her side, fingers biting in roughly.

"Beautiful," he repeated before capturing her mouth once again. It rose her up onto her toes, arms around his neck. He made quick work of the back clasp of her bra. She only let go of him long enough to remove it, and when he covered a breast with each hand she felt her body come undone. Damn the scars, damn everything else that happened to her.

Valerie forced the leather kutte from his shoulders, likely a big no-no but fuck it. He was entirely too clothed. He helped her remove it, tossing it behind them on the island. Without opening her eyes or breaking the lip-lock she started on the buttons of his shirt. He was torn with what to do with his hands, the trouble choosing between the buttons and her chest. So he just tore the shirt open, shrugged it off and dragged her close again.

Christ, his skin was so warm on hers. The chest hair likely shouldn't have been a surprise but it was. He groaned almost immediately as their skin made contact and it made her chuckle a bit. He parted lips again, winding his hands up in her hair. "You feel even better than you look," he whispered, kissing her neck again.

"Tig," she whispered, barely recognizing how thick and low her tone had become. "Are you taking me to bed?"

"What's the rush?" He asked against her skin, his breath tickling.

"It's been a long time," she admitted, wishing she could control the desperation in her voice.

He raised his head, hands stilling on her skin as he studied her face. "We can stop."

She shook her head. "Don't you fucking dare."

His smile was ridiculously rapturous and he kissed her again, nearly bending her backwards with enthusiasm.

She started leading him backwards to the hallway, walking backwards past the spare room and the washroom to her bedroom at the end of the hallway. He shut the door behind them. The bed hit her in the back of the knees, and she fell back, taking him with her. He caught his weight on his arms, that low laugh coming again.

"We need a light on," he said, running a hand from the side of her neck down between her breasts.

"No," she said immediately.

He lowered himself on to her, weight on elbows as he nuzzled at her neck. "Please, Val. I want to see you."

"Tig -"

"If you can take my ugly mug, that is."

She smiled, hearing the humour in his tone. He wanted to ease her discomfort.

Valerie sighed. "Fine."

His growl of appreciation tugged at lower parts of her body. She slid out from under him, wiggling on elbows to the nightstand, reaching for the bedside lamp and flicking it on. He was still at the foot of her bed, his smile small and incredibly sexy. She felt a fool for being bashful about him seeing her.

Valerie got to her feet, back to him, unzipping her jeans and hooking her thumbs in the waistband, pausing.

Yes, she wanted this. Very much so. But there were still a few things she hadn't told him –

She heard his footsteps behind her, the creak of the bed as he sat down behind her. He grabbed her by the belt loops, pulling her backwards. She laughed in spite of her flaring nerves.

He pulled at her jeans, sliding them downward over her hips. They hit the ground around her ankles and she kicked them away. When she turned around he was looking up to her face, and she knew he was watching for signs she was losing her mind over something.

She reached out to touch his temple, and he kept his eyes on her face. Her fingers threaded into his hair and he closed his eyes. It made her smile.

One knee went to the edge of the bed next to his leg, and the other to the opposite side. His hands caught her by the ass, pulling her forward to straddle his lap. He was looking at her skin again, his lips pressing softly to the scar on her breast he'd been tracing earlier. So incredibly gentle, quite suddenly.

"I hope I remember how to do this," he muttered.

She gave a nervous laugh, resting her hands on his shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

"Making love. That's not usually ... how I do it."

She studied his face, knowing how hard and scary it could be when he needed that kind of armour. It wasn't. It was totally open and earnest, and his eyes were almost apologetic.

"Tig? Honey?" He met her eyes again. She gave a smile. "I'll take you however you are."

He returned her smile slowly. "There's something wrong with you, Val."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I know." Then she dropped the smile. "Natalia."

"What?"

"That's my real name. Natalia."


	24. Chapter 24

Tig nodded, serious, like he knew that was perhaps another bit she was hiding about herself, maybe even the final piece that he didn't already know. "Okay. Natalia."

She tilted her head to meet his lips again. He cradled her face in his palms, his mouth softly demanding. His hands slid down over her skin lightly, sending shivers shooting through her again. Then quickly she was back to being desperate, needing him.

He knew the moment to roll her onto her back, covering her with light touches and kisses. When he hooked his hand into the front of her underwear she didn't flinch. He was running those fingertips back and forth across her belly, and when she pulled back from the kiss to look at him she realized he wasn't giving her a chance to stop him. He wasn't worried about her; he was teasing her.

With one hand she unfastened his belt, making him raise his eyebrows as though impressed with some kind of skill she had. As she forced a hand inside his jeans roughly he took the dare, dipping his hand down further, finding the skin that was aching to be touched. As he stroked at her softly she cried out, head back, eyes squeezing shut.

Jesus, it _had _been a long time. She forgot her foray into his pants, the sensations rolling through her not allowing her to concentrate on anything else. She could feel his gaze on her and that was likely one of the reasons she came so quickly.

It took her by surprise, causing some ragged whimpers to issue forth that she couldn't remember having ever made before in her life. But it didn't matter. It was too perfect, too sweet to worry that she might have just done something weird.

His lips touched her throat, nuzzling into her neck. "Oh Christ, _Natalia_."

She remembered her hand and pushed deeper past his fly, eventually finding the evidence of how badly he wanted her. She closed her hand around that hot length and felt her head shoot up, a gasp leading into a hushed, "Holy shit."

Their second full session, she was remembering it now, when he'd unloaded all the dirty secrets he had. He'd been quite clear telling her not only the talent he had using that male appendage, but also the dubious distinction of it being the biggest most women had seen. Of course, most men would say the same thing.

He wasn't lying.

She knew she looked startled, checking to see what his reaction was. He wasn't laughing, he just shrugged. "As advertised, Doc. I'd never lie about something so important." She just stared, not sure when she'd be able to speak. Now he smiled, removing her hand gently. "Do you have ..."

She shook her head. "Sorry. Yeah, in the nightstand drawer."

He sat up on the edge of the bed and she reoriented herself, leaning against the pillows, pulling her knees to her chest. He found the condoms easily, a brand new box, still sealed. She'd felt ridiculous buying them at the time, but now …

She kicked the comforter down to the end of the bed best she could. She didn't watch him remove his pants. She did watch him climb into bed next to her, and his look made her smile. He was being so careful, like he was scared to frighten a bird away.

He pulled the covers over her, a nice gesture. Again he came to her slowly, hands cherishing and caressing her tenderly. His kiss was the same, growing deep and hot gradually so she was barely aware that she'd dug her fingers into his shoulders, latching onto him and holding him as close as possible. Almost as close, anyway.

She rolled to her back, pulling him onto her. Her legs came to his hips, and with strong hands he tore her panties from her. She gasped against his mouth, feeling her body thrill at the evidence of his want for her. Not letting her catch her breath, he slid into her, filling her completely on one brutal and complete thrust.

Now she did part her mouth from his to whimper, and he stilled, pressing his face to the crook of her neck and shoulder. She was aware of her body trying to clench, but she couldn't. There was no spare space, she was completely invaded but nothing hurt. That was surprising.

He was panting against her skin, and it made her smile. She scraped her nails along the back of his neck, playing with his hair. She pulled her hips from his a little, feeling the slightest friction. It made her gasp again and he clamped his hands on her hips, muttering, "Wait. Jesus, Val. Just a second."

She stilled, desperate to feel more of that pull and drag. When he rose up on his elbows again to look down on her his eyes were wild with something completely new and it made her tremble and thrill at the same time.

"Christ, you're so tight," he moaned, repositioning his knees. The shift was another fantastic tease and she had to squeeze her eyes tight, biting her lip. "Look at you," he murmured, mouth falling on hers again. "Tell me you want me."

She kissed him back furiously, forcing her tongue into his mouth for one slow drag, breathing out what he needed to hear. "I want you."

His hand gripped her left knee tightly to his waist, curling her hips under him. When he retreated she felt that friction again, and she had to hang on with all ten fingernails. He rocked against her and she cried out against his lips. It couldn't possibly be this good this easily.

He reared back and thrust again, never rough but never timid either. As full as she was with him there was no way he wouldn't be able to hit that spot -

The third stroke did it. She made an almost ungodly sound, and he stopped kissing her again, checking to see if he'd hurt her.

She reached down to grip his lower back. She moved her hips against his as an answer, and he was convinced. The tempo increased, but his aim remained absolutely perfect. The orgasm was like a sunrise; she could see it forever and knew that when the sun broke that plain it was going to be heartbreakingly perfect.

One moment she was anticipating that release with a building intensity low in her body, and quite suddenly it shattered her, tearing a series of sounds from her throat that matched the waves of pleasure that rode through her without mercy.

When she stilled she realized he had stopped moving too. When her eyes could flutter open she saw his smile first, beaming down on her. She had to return it, swallowing with difficulty. "Oh ... Tig."

"Do you know what you called me?"

"I just called you Tig," she panted, eyes still closed.

"Before that?"

She couldn't remember being able to put together an intelligible word. She shook her head. "I don't remember using too many words, actually."

He kissed her softly, then said, "You called me Alexander."

She gave a slight chuckle, opening her eyes again. "I'm sorry."

"New rule. You can call me that only in that circumstance."

She put a hand to each side of his face, knowing she was smiling like a loon. "It's a deal. But you're the one that needs to hold up your end of the bargain, really."

"My pleasure, babe."

He didn't pin her down and rut her like mad after that. He continued to love her the same way; thoroughly, attentively, with a lot of touching and kissing, a bit of dirty talking. When he rolled her over on top she had her second moment of doubt.

"What's wrong?" He asked, hands on her thighs, kneading her skin and muscle.

"Nothing. I'm just ..."

He took her hands from where she'd crossed them over her breasts. "Stop doing that. Stop covering up, please."

She smiled down at him, rewarded with a smile back.

"You're beautiful. You're going to make me say it over and over, aren't you?"

Jesus, the look on that face. He was enraptured with her, and his eyes dropped down to take her in, and suddenly she felt like she might be worthy of the praise. It made her braver, that was for sure.

She braced her hands on his chest, curling her hips under her spine and then back again. His grip returned to her legs, fingers biting in tight as he groaned, mouth and eyes wide open.

Damn anyone who thought this could be ruined for her. She deserved to be enjoyed like this. And most of all, she wanted to be.

Their eyes were locked on each other as she swung her hips, her pace increasing as the pressure grew again. She was covered with a sheen of sweat, close to exhaustion, but still she held off on letting it overtake her. She teased herself, enjoying the impending orgasm as much as she would when she let it arrive.

He sat up. She positioned her feet under her hips so she could continue to control the motion, clutching his shoulders with her fingernails. He tasted her neck, her breasts; his hands were all over her but not impeding her movements. When his mouth came back to hers it was the final sensation she needed.

Her body tightened around him, she jerked but kept the kiss going. His hands tightened on her hips, drawing her all the way down onto him as her orgasm was ending and she had to gasp at how unexpected it was. His head fell forward, forehead resting on her shoulder as he panted and held her in place.

She draped her arms across his shoulders, playing with his hair again as he trembled. She kissed his shoulder, behind his ear.

He let his head fall back, gazing up at her with a look of pure adulation. She had to smile, kissing him softly.

"Babe," he whispered, his breathing as laboured as hers. "That was ..."

She shook her head, pressing another kiss to his mouth. "I know."

His hands cradled her neck, a feeling she was starting to love. He kissed her again, so slow and lazy; that kiss she could barely believe he was capable of.

"I don't want to get out of bed," he muttered into her lips, "but I should probably go take care of -"

"Oh. Of course." She climbed off his lap, feeling for the first time that yes, she would most definitely be sore in the morning. But she couldn't care. As she settled back into the pillows her body was limp.

She watched him walk to the en suite bathroom, just noticing now his tattoos. For the life of her she couldn't imagine him being dangerous.

She nearly dozed off, sprawled out on her side facing the lit bedside lamp. The bed moved behind her and she felt the scruff of facial hair just before a kiss landed on her hip, her arm, her shoulder.

"Mmmm," came his voice. "You make quite a sight."

His hand flattened on her dragon tattoo, fingers playing over the scar again. She arched away, laughing. "That tickles."

He pulled back on her shoulder and she rolled over to look at him. He had the second pillow bunched up between his head and arm, and as she rolled to her opposite side he pressed his other hand to her cheek.

The serious look on his face sobered her somewhat. She was entirely blissed out and limp, and she certainly didn't want that to change. But he wanted to say something important.

"Listen, Val - _Natalia_," he corrected with that sarcastic tone that made her giggle. "I just don't think I can call you _Nat_."

"Then don't."

"_Nat_," he tried again, making her laugh harder.

"Don't," she insisted through her giggles.

He took her hand, pulled it to him and kissed in then held it between their bodies. "I don't do long term. But I want to. With you."

She smiled. "You do?"

"Absolutely."

She nodded. "Me too."

"I mean it. You're what I want. You completely tricked me, you know." Even his eyes were laughing, then he got serious. "But that's what I want."

She nodded, somber. "And you're what I want, Tig."

He paused, then shook his head. "There is something _so_ wrong with you."

She rose on one elbow to kiss him, laughing again. "I know."


	25. Chapter 25

**For all my daily-update viewers, I will be unable to post tomorrow. So please enjoy these two chapters, both 100% with Tig.**

* * *

Valerie woke to sunshine across her pillow in a thin shaft. The curtains weren't closed as tightly as she usually had them.

Right. She hadn't given a fig about curtains when she'd gone to bed the night before.

Valerie felt herself smile, letting her eyes close again. She was exhausted in that inexplicably complete way that meant moving would have been too much to handle. Then she remembered what came _before_ all that pleasure the night before and something hardened, just a bit.

Just over twelve hours ago she'd killed two people. She'd shot two men in the head and felt no different for having done it.

The mattress shifted behind her. She found herself grinning again, realizing she'd expected to wake up all by herself. A warm finger ran down the back of her arm, making her quiver, and she actually _sighed_ as Tig kissed her bare shoulder.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning," he returned, wiggling close to her and dropping his arm down on her hips, actually _snuggling_ her. Again, mere months ago this would have been outside the realm of possibility.

They lay that way for a long, peaceful moment. Until he broke it, of course.

"It's so fucking quiet here."

She laughed, smiling up at him over her shoulder. "You really have something against peace and quiet?"

"It's ..._ unnatural_. It's too easy to drop your guard."

"Are you worried I might get the drop on you?" she teased, scratching along his arm lightly. He pressed his face closer to her ear.

"You've already dropped me, babe," he whispered, raising the hair at the back of her neck. "Trust me."

She had to smile, even though he couldn't quite see it. "That sounds serious."

"It is."

She rolled onto her back, and he rose up next to her, hand to the side of her neck, this thumb passing back and forth along her jawline. His face was soft and caring again, and she was realizing that not many people saw him this way. It made her feel like a stereotypical teenager but she was honoured that he was showing himself to her like this. He might not even realize it, and she sure wasn't going to point it out.

His hands were wonderfully rough, running under her lower back, easing his weight onto her. His tongue aggressively found her mouth, and her body wanted to appease him, it really did. But shit ... she was sore.

She pushed up on his shoulders a bit, stopping the kiss. "Tig," she said, embarrassed. "I ... I don't think I can ... again. So soon."

His smile was far too pleased, and she felt the blush rise in her cheeks and she had to try and cover her face. As smug as the look was it was also pretty damn appealing on him.

"I'm sorry, Val. _Natalia_."

She lowered her hands, sighing. "No, I'm sorry."

"For what?" He pressed another kiss to her lips, the smile refusing to leave. She let the kiss go on, wondering if the ache was really that bad. When his hand dipped between her legs she lowered her hips onto it and eagerly met his gentle touch, but as he tried to slide a few fingers inside she gasped, grasping his arm to stop him. It hurt a bit and that was really, _really_ too bad.

"I'm sorry," she repeated as he removed his hand.

"Stop apologizing," he said, throwing back the blankets and grabbing her by the knees. "There's more than one way to make you say my real name."

"What?"

"Shhhh ..." he said, lowering himself down between her legs.

"Tig, you don't have to -"

"I know. But I want to."

Well, that certainly _didn't _hurt, she decided, relaxing as he teased and pleasured her with just lips and tongue, yet another skill he apparently excelled at ... ridiculously well. His hands were working at her breasts at the same time, and as she came she dug her nails into his arms, her body tensing under the assault. When she stilled again she was panting, trying to catch her breath. He kissed his way back up her body; up past her bellybutton, between her breasts, along her neck and finally meeting her mouth again.

"Oh Jesus," she whispered, eliciting a chuckle from him.

"I am really liking hearing you make those noises," he growled to her ear.

"How are you so bloody good at this?" She muttered as he collapsed next to her, casually on his back.

"Am I? I don't know. I don't usually give a shit."

She tucked herself under his arm, unable to stop herself from playing with his chest hair. This was new; she'd never had access to chest hair before. "That's never ... worked for me before."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Any boyfriend I had tried their best but ... I don't know. I couldn't relax."

He chuckled, playing with her hair. "And with me you're relaxed."

"I know."

"There_ is_ something wrong with you."

"I _know_."

They lay there for a moment, and it struck her so suddenly she felt bad. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"For what now?"

She put her weight on her elbow, looking down at him, not believing this was about to come out of her mouth. "That was incredibly one-sided."

"What?"

"What you just did. Can I ... I mean ... I'd like to -"

He grabbed her hand, kissing the palm. "Natalia, you please me. You know that."

"But -"

"Honey, if I let you put your mouth on that I would be the world's biggest asshole."

"But Tig -"

"Babe, I mean it."

She slid her hand down his stomach, under the blankets, finding that part of him that had just started to calm down. At her touch it jerked and he twitched, closing his eyes. Her hand barely circled him but she tried it anyway, sliding her palm downward and then back up. She was nervous doing it for some reason, but when he turned his face to hers and opened those blue eyes again her nerves were gone. She stroked again, making him exhale loudly. So she did it again.

Watching him was almost enough to do _her _in as well. He was completely relaxed and trusting of her. When she had him right where she wanted him he rocked his hips against her grip a bit, growling a little, keeping his eyes on hers. She was breathing through her mouth; watching him grow more and more aroused the best aphrodisiac she'd known.

He shoved the blankets away just before seizing up, barking out her name, her _real_ name. He made a mess of himself but didn't care; he had too many noises to make and lovely things to tell her. Like "Ahhh shit, Natalia," "Don't stop yet," and "Holy fuck."

Likely all exaggerations. But it still made her smile, made her feel pretty amazing, actually. He caught his breath, blinking as he looked at the ceiling, laughing eventually. "Jesus, hon. That's ... perfect. That's so perfect." When he rolled his head back towards her he had a fantastically male and lazy grin, eyes half-closed. "You were watching me."

She nodded. "Of course."

"That really did it for me, babe."

"It did?"

He sat up and she realized she should let go of him. He grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand, cleaning off the back of her hand for her. Then he strode to the bathroom to clean himself up.

Natalia watched him the whole way, unable to stop smiling. She was absolutely, positively happy with him. How the hell that had happened she had no idea.

She got out of bed, walking to the bathroom door, her body loosening a bit once she was upright. She could feel that she was wet still. She crossed back to the nightstand, grabbing another foil packet.

She met him in the doorway. The way he looked her up and down made her further forget the pain, damning it to the back of her mind.

"Shower," she said, meeting him with her body. "Now."

He picked her up easily, carrying her to the tub and setting her down. Then he frowned at what she held in her hand. "I don't want to hurt you, babe."

She shook her head. "I'll worry about that. I want you. Again."

"If it hurts -"

"I'll tell you," she promised, leaning down to turn the faucet on. That seemed to convince him. He stepped in behind her, bending over her back to kiss her between the shoulder blades as she turned the taps on. Chills ran down her back as he tried to turn her around. She wouldn't be moved, testing the water temperature. He kneaded her breasts, making her laugh. She fought him off only long enough to draw the curtain and turn the showerhead on, then let herself fall back into his embrace.

He hefted her up to his waist, bracing her back against the wall. His mouth was vicious on hers, but with his hands occupied with holding her up she had complete access to all parts of him. She ran nails along his back, his arms, chest, neck. She loved the strength apparent in his body, displayed by holding her this way.

"Condom," she whispered, bringing about a string of curses while he put her down and they tried to find where she'd dropped it. It was on the bathroom floor. She grabbed it and hauled it back into the shower, tearing it open with her teeth. He took it from her, fixing it in place and turning her to face the shower wall. She gasped at the rough treatment, but felt her body warm at the same time. She arched her back, offering her hips to him. He knew not to be gentle. The first thrusts hurt plenty but they wet her thoroughly at the same time. By the fourth or fifth she was aware of an impending orgasm that overrun any pain or discomfort.

He gripped her hair tightly, she was pinned in place how he wanted her, and it was perfect. She cried out loudly, the sound echoing off the tile walls as her body twitched around him. He was grunting as if holding back himself and the fact that he found her pleasure that enjoyable had her smiling and biting her lip.

When he turned her back to face him she was nearly limp. He didn't seem too worried. He held her by the hips again, hoisting her against the wall and plunging inside brutally. She whimpered against his mouth, clutching his hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other.

She couldn't wrap her legs around his waist; not both of them anyway. They just got in the way. She stretched one leg out, bracing it on the edge of the tub. The other remained hooked around his lower back. Perfect.

He pulled back from kissing her, his eyes catching hers. She was struck again by the reverence in his face. As though she were some elegant, exotic flower; not a woman he was pounding into furiously. He ran a hand to the side of her face as he increased the tempo.

Christ, it was brutal and fast and intense. The orgasm tackled instead of teased her, and her whole body convulsed to the point where she cracked her head on the tiled wall. She couldn't recognize the sounds in the room; which were hers, which came from him. The shaking at her very core was intense, like her body was trying to force him out of her. He fought her on that, following her orgasm nearly immediately with his own, his hands tightening on her hips, his whole body growing rigid.

His face was pressed to her neck, and her hands were back in his hair. Maybe she'd forced his head there, she couldn't remember. Nothing mattered except the trembling in both their bodies and the exhausted and complete feeling of being totally spent.

He withdrew slowly, making her suck in her breath as he lowered her to her feet again. His smile was small and private, watching her face. "Jesus, babe. I didn't know you had all that in you."

She smiled back, rising up on her toes to kiss him again. "I want you to show me all I'm capable of, Tig."


	26. Chapter 26

Valerie knew that this was as close to "domestic bliss" as she was getting with this man, and she loved it.

They were on her porch having "breakfast." He was stretched out on her lounger, her in front of him, cradled against his body. The both held coffees, he also had a joint which he passed to her from time to time.

A hell of a morning routine to get used to; her body was thoroughly limp and worn out. Valerie had her legs propped up in front of her, his were on either side of the lounger, bare on the deck. The morning sun was warming the deck and the both of them.

Not talking, either. Too much effort to talk. At least, on her part.

"I'm going to tell you something, and I don't want you to get mad," he began, and she groaned.

"That's a terrible way to start a conversation."

"I know, I know. But listen. I wasn't just_ allowed_ to go get those guys last night."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, and she knew he was taking another hit. So she waited.

"After you were attacked, I thought it was because of me. I couldn't take that. If knowing me caused all that for you I … I just had to make it right."

She frowned out at her backyard. "I don't blame you for that -"

"Let me finish. So to use the club's contacts and have the help of my brothers … I told them that … you were mine."

She stilled, coffee mug halfway to her mouth. "What?" It was soft. By no means angry.

"I lied. They already thought I was banging you, especially after you showed up at Opie's funeral. And after the attack it became apparent that you weren't just some acquaintance I owed a favour to. So … I told them you were mine."

She closed her eyes, thinking back. Yeah, she'd been feeling him long before that. And he'd lied so that he could avenge her.

"So … was it a surprise?"

He chucked, the rumble of it rolling through her back. "They wouldn't stop busting my balls after the memorial. A bunch of fucking old ladies the way they go on."

"And … when you told them?"

She felt him shrug. "No one was surprised. Everyone acted like they already knew. Even though we hadn't … well …"

"I know." She peered up at him over her shoulder. "You lied, huh?"

He smiled down at her, kissing her temple. "Maybe I kinda did. But not all that much, really."

She remembered Chibbs and had to laugh. "Well, that explains Chibbs stopping by then."

"What? When?"

She told him about the window-cleaning day and the distinct feeling she had that she was being tested. His body tightened against her back.

"They sent Chibbs? And he kissed you?"

She sat up, spinning around on the lounger to face him. She crowded in close, propping her legs up over his hips. She took the joint from him, finishing off the last bit before stubbing it out on the glass patio table. Then she met his eyes, the jealous anger she saw there scary but certainly thrilling.

"Tig," she said calmly, hand on his chest. "Did you hear what I said? He kissed me, I pushed him off, and when he tried again I punched him." His jaw was flexing, and she made him look at her by grabbing his chin. "Tig? Baby? You think I'd go for your friend over you?"

His eyes ran over her, then he put his coffee down and grabbed her face with both hands, kissing her quickly and possessively. "The thought that he even touched you -"

"They were testing me, Tig. You said I was yours and they wanted to make sure."

She could basically see the lights come on, and he smiled. "So … this was _after_ our little spat in the desert?"

She smiled back. "Yes, it was."

"Yeah, that's around the time I told them. You're right."

She shook her head, laughing. "Don't look so smug."

He was smiling broadly, running his hands up her thighs to her hips. "You really punch him?"

She shrugged. "Not _that _hard. But yeah, I did."

"Because you wanted _me_, right?" Clearly making her say all this was amusing the hell out of him.

She couldn't tell him anything other than the truth with that smile on his face and his eyes shining like they were. "Right. I did."

He kissed her, slow and languid like he wasn't in any hurry. She kissed him back, running hands up his chest to his shoulders. She never would have imagined a kiss from this man was the kind of thing she could spend all day in.

He was still smiling when he parted his mouth from hers, then his eyes dropped and he took her hands from his shoulders, cradling them to his chest. "We're heading out of town tonight," he said slowly, looking at their joined hands. "For a few days."

Club business; she knew not to ask.

"Okay," she said, sounding understanding.

"You'll be all right while I'm gone?"

She smiled at his terrible attempt at trying to sound unworried. "Are you asking if I'll go insane and join an orgy?"

"Yeah, I guess I'm asking that," he agreed, laughing with her.

"Nah. Not really my style." They shared a nice long look, then she realized she was actually saying he was all there would be for her.

Yet she had no right to ask the same of him, because things didn't work like that in this world. When the men went off they were open season for anything and everything.

Valerie could still remember the jealous arguments her mother had with her father when he'd get back from those business excursions, demanding to know every horrible detail before they'd disappear into their bedroom, knowing _now_ that the fight was what turned her mother on. The second her father came back it was her mission to reassert herself as the primary piece of ass in his life. But now, as an adult, Valerie couldn't understand the need for her mother to know the gory details.

"Tig," she said on an exhale. "I know that this exclusivity doesn't always go both ways. And I know I can't ask you to tie it in a knot until you get back -" He opened his mouth to argue, but she covered his mouth with her fingertips. "I get it," she said carefully. "I know what happens. Whatever you do, I just don't want to know about it. But I don't want to see it walking into this town, either. If it's on the road it stays there. I don't want to know. I'd rather be lied to."

His eyes flicked over her face, the hurt in his eyes obvious.

She just shook her head, feeling the tears prickle up. "It's okay."

"Val," he said, voice hoarse, and she cut off the rest with her mouth.

When she pulled back it was to revert back to something much more Gemma Teller in tone. "But this had better be the only bed you land in while you're here or I swear to God I will -"

He barked out a laugh and cut her off by kissing her deeply and drawing her to his chest. "I never want to hurt you," he began.

She shook her head, not wanting to stew on the thought of any other woman running their trashy hands over him. "So how does this work, though?" She asked, fingers playing over the edge of his shirt, at a spot where a button hadn't survived the attack the night before, reaching inside to touch skin just a bit.

"What?"

"Us. Me being with you. Is it ... okay? Do I need to go kiss Gemma's ring?" That made him laugh. "I mean, I don't know. Do I have to prove I'm trustworthy? How does it work?"

He shrugged. "I think you've proved your trustworthiness last night. I mean, you killed two guys last night."

"I know," she said quietly.

"We're just ... together. There's no overthinking it. Trust me. If you want to come with me to the clubhouse for _events_, then come with me. If you'd rather not, then don't. You want to stay here, at my place, the clubhouse, it's all fine. You're in as much as you want and you're out as much as you want."

She didn't know if she believed all that, but as drew her face up to his for another kiss she pushed the thought away. They could just figure things out as they went along; hell, that's what most people did anyway.

"And I swear, you're not just someone I'm banging. If you want me to promise you loyalty on the road -"

She just shook her head. "Like I said. I know how it is. But just know that I have no interest in anyone else."

He pushed her hair out of her face, expression reverent again. "There is something so wrong with you," he said in all seriousness before breaking into that grin and hugging her tight, cuddling her in the warming rays and sighing as she settled in against him.


	27. Chapter 27

When Valerie woke the next morning she had a vague thought that it was a good to get a few days' break from Tig. Christ, she was really hurting. That shower had been a very, very stupid idea.

Well, in hindsight anyway.

She stretched with a smile, enjoying all those fantastic aches. Sure she was alone in bed, but all she had to do was close her eyes and she had a vivid enough imagination to convince herself otherwise.

She toddled to the bathroom, feeling the tightness in her lower back as she walked, wondering what this particular day had in store for her. It was a work day, but the last two had been pretty light on patients. She was sure today had looked the same on her day planner.

Showered and teeth brushed, she pushed her way through the connecting door to her practice next door. She walked past Teresa's desk, then into the adjoining room. She opened all the blinds, letting the muted light of the gray, rainy day though the windows. She turned back to her desk, then stopped cold, a "What the fuck?" eliciting from her throat without any thought from her.

She didn't flip out, strangely enough. At one time, a human head shriveled and burnt and set on her desk like a macabre paper weight likely would have had her losing her shit and then some. But all she could do was stare; cold-cocked by the surprise of it all.

Her brain tried to track the events that would have had to happen for this to take place. Someone got into her office after she closed the previous evening. She'd gone out to get a few groceries, then come home and stayed next door, all by herself, all night.

She blinked a few more times. Someone had been in her home again.

Her heels made no sound on the area rug as she approached the head slowly, not so much out of fear its eyes would suddenly jump open, more because she was expecting some kind of stench to reach her. It never came. As disgusting as it was, she could only smell campfire and lighter fluid.

Valerie crouched down on the opposite side of her desk, looking at the head straight-on. She could see a hole in the forehead. She straightened up, and maybe if she hadn't been so shocked to begin with she would have jumped to the conclusion that this was one of the men she'd killed a bit sooner.

It had to be. And the fourth guy was still out there.

She straightened up, her heart speeding up slightly. Shit. Fuck. Shit-fuck. What did she do now?

Valerie stared at the gruesome relic, then checked the clock. It was almost nine am. Fuck. Teresa couldn't see this and she was due in at ten.

Very reluctantly she pulled out a phone book and looked up the number for Teller-Morrow. She had no idea if they'd be open, or who the hell was even around to offer some advice –

"Teller-Morrow," the voice was short but it was enough for her to recognize the speaker.

"Gemma?"

"Yeah?

"It's Valerie Turner."

"Well hey, Doc. What can I do for you?"

She eyed the head, frowning. "I have a problem."

"Another one? Are you leaving out food to attract trouble or what?"

She closed her eyes, breathing out slow. "Someone broke into my office last night."

Pause. "What?"

"Someone broke in and left a little something on my desk for me to find."

"I'm not gonna play twenty questions. What is it?"

"It's a … head."

Pause. "What?"

"There's a human head on my desk right now. And … I don't know what to do."

"Well, get rid of it."

She frowned, feeling a bit impatient. "I've already missed this week's trash pick-up, Gemma."

"Fuck. Fine. I'll be right there."

Gemma hung up in Valerie's ear and she placed the phone back on the cradle, still staying far away from the blackened hunk of meat and bone. From this side of the desk she could see the huge exit wound; half that skull was gone.

Yeah, this was _so _the first fucker she capped the night before last.

She went to the front room, opening an antique cupboard that was near the door that displayed her cards and some printed materials on various mental health concerns. She slid out the bottom drawer, finding the office supplies. She pulled a few bin liners out, then returned to the office and shut her door, locking herself in with the head.

She sat down on the sofa, across the room from her desk, staring at that thing and chewing her lip. For the life of her she couldn't imagine what putting that head here could possibly achieve. If her fourth attacker had done it, and she was pretty bloody sure he had, why didn't he just come get her? Finish her off?

Unless he wasn't entirely sure she'd be alone.

The thought that someone had been watching her house turned her stomach as much as the head did. Then she realized her blinds were wide open.

She darted across the room, lowering them all again and cursing at herself. Then she paced until she heard a car approach. She checked out the window to make sure it wasn't Teresa. It wasn't. It was Gemma in her black SUV, and that baby-faced Juice kid was with her, too.

She unlocked the office door and let them into the lobby. Gemma looked ready to call bullshit on this story as Valerie hurried them inside and locked the front door again.

"A head? Are you fucking kidding me?" The older woman snapped.

Valerie took a deep breath. "It's on my desk. Through here."

She led the way into the room, aware now of the charbroiled smell. Gemma saw it and jumped, a "Jesus fucking Christ" bursting out before she could turn away. Juice just pulled a face.

"What do you do with a head? I don't even know." Valerie couldn't sound more normal. At the back of her head she was questioning that, but she was in crisis management mode.

"So you know who it is?" Gemma asked.

Valerie nodded. "It's a guy I killed."

"What?"

Juice piped up. "Is it? One of the guys that attacked you?"

Valerie looked at the head again. "Yeah. It has to be. Although, a bullet through the forehead could be anyone I suppose -"

"Wait, you killed the guys that attacked you?" Gemma was clearly pissed she didn't have all the intel.

"Two of them," Valerie confirmed. "Tig and Chibbs found them. They killed one when he tried to get away. I did the other two."

Gemma's expression could have been funny. _Almost_. "Holy shit, Doc."

Juice chimed in. "Tig's been looking for them for weeks. He told us how Valerie wanted to do them herself."

Valerie rolled her hands in a move-it-along gesture. "I feel like we're overlooking the real issue here. My assistant will be here in less than half an hour and it would be better for everyone if she didn't see this."

"You got bags?" Juice asked. She held us the ones she'd been crushing in her hands for the last ten minutes. "You really shouldn't have touched them," he said. "Fingerprints."

She wasn't sure what kind of look she gave him but it was enough to make him take the bags and approach the desk without another criticism.

"There were four men, weren't there?" Gemma asked gently, standing next to her.

Valerie nodded. "The other two wouldn't give up the fourth guy. He's still … somewhere."

"Shit," Gemma muttered. "And do you think he …"

Valerie shrugged. "Who else? It wasn't Chibbs or Tig."

Juice unrolled one bag down over the head from the top, then used the edge of the bag to roll the head back into the plastic. He closed the top and double-bagged it. For safety, she supposed. Heads were apparently quite heavy.

"Now what?" Valerie asked.

"I'll just get rid of it," Juice offered, tying the top in a knot.

"Thank you," she said, issuing a deep breath.

"Make sure to scrub your fucking desk down," Gemma said. "And when you're done work pack a bag. You're staying with me until the guys get back."

Valerie frowned. "No, Gemma, I couldn't -"

The woman took her by the arm, a very wise look on her face. "If I let you stay here and something happens, I'll never forgive myself, Doc."

Valerie frowned. "I can stay in a hotel."

"Don't hurt my feelings, Valerie. We'll come get you around five."

Juice was standing there with a human head in a plastic bag and Valerie found Gemma's concern to be the weirdest thing about this whole situation. Then her front door opened and Valerie knew it was Teresa.

"Shit," she whispered, ushering Juice and Gemma out of her office. "What do I tell her this is about?"

"Who's in charge here anyway?" Gemma was asking as Teresa entered the lobby, stopping short to see the three of them assembled as they were.

"Morning," Valerie greeted her, hoping she didn't sound half-crazy.

"Is everything okay?" Teresa sound instantly suspicious.

Valerie nodded, about to answer when Juice stepped forward, swinging his arms like there wasn't part of a murder victim in his hand. "We were just leaving. Wanted to check and make sure the office was secure for you ladies this morning." Then he let his eyes trail downwards over her form while adding, "Everything looks perfect."

Valerie would have laughed if Teresa didn't blush. Holy shit; it was like magic.

Gemma grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him towards the door. "Yeah yeah, Romeo. Let's get out of here before we start scaring the patients."

They were gone that easily, and Teresa was still smiling as she looked at Valerie. "Is everything okay?"

"Why? What do you mean?"

Teresa shrugged. "I don't know. Why would they be checking the office over?"

_Shit. _Valerie shrugged. "I guess they're still worried about my break in. They think we should get an alarm."

Teresa shrugged, setting her purse on her desk. "That's likely a good idea."

Valerie smiled. "I thought so, too. Hey, I'm just going to go grab some Pinesol. I'll be right back."

"What for?

"What?"

Teresa looked at her strange. "What's the Pinesol for?"

Valerie hoped the shrug looked causal. "I spilled coffee on my desk yesterday and the smell won't go away."

"I can clean it up -"

"No!" Okay, now she sounded nuts. Valerie gave a patient smile. "Really, I got it. Thanks."

Teresa raised her eyebrows. "Hey, I'm not going to fight you for it."


	28. Chapter 28

Valerie was trying to get Teresa out of the office a bit earlier to avoid having to explain why Gemma Morrow was suddenly at her house inviting her to a sleep-over. But Teresa was her usual chatty self, stopping mid-task to tell her some ridiculous detail about the TV show she was following or something her sister had posted on her Facebook wall.

After Valerie's eightieth "Uh huh, that's interesting," Teresa finally headed for the door with her purse. Valerie hadn't heard any huge SUVs pull up yet, so that was fortunate. When she finally had Teresa at the door the woman turned back, mouth open. Valerie had to remind herself about how kind and helpful Teresa had been after the attack just to keep herself from smacking her.

"Hey. I got an idea. This Friday we should ... you know. Go out for a beer or whatever."

Valerie forced a smile "That sounds great. Good idea."

"Yeah. Just hang out, no work. Get to know each other."

Valerie was nodding and reaching for the doorknob. "You're right. We haven't done that. We really should."

"Okay. Sounds good."

Valerie was shutting the door and locking it immediately, rushing through the office to lock the connecting door and head back to her home. She knew starting an argument with Gemma Morrow was a lost cause. She was having a sleep-over and that was it.

She pulled out an over-night bag and tossed it on the bed. She grabbed a change of underwear, changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then tossed the necessary toiletries in a travel case as there was a knock on her home's front door.

She carried the bag down the hall, checked the peephole and opened the door. A large kid in a leather vest stood there, raising his hand in a small wave. "Hey. I'm Phil."

The Anarchy vest meant she could trust him, but she couldn't remember seeing him before. She told herself to just relax. "Hey," she returned. "I'm Valerie."

"Yeah, you're the shrink. You ready to go? Gemma's got supper almost ready." This dude clearly never met a meal he didn't like.

She nodded, then paused. "Do you think I need to bring anything? For the meal?"

He gave her the standard male shrug and head shake that universally means, _why are you asking me that? _She sighed, went back to her kitchen and grabbed a bottle of cab-sauv from her rack. "All right Phil, lead the way."

"Let me take that for you," he offered, reaching for the handle of her bag.

She let him take it while saying, "Really, that's not necessary."

"No way am I getting in trouble for making you carry stuff."

She frowned at his back as he made his way down her stoop, then locked the door behind her and followed.

The Morrow's home was in a fairly nice neighbourhood she didn't know very well, and when Phil pulled up in front of a well-kept bungalow she wasn't surprised to see that it had the best-kept yard on the block. Apparently even the plants were scared to get out of line.

Phil led her to the stoop, then ushered her ahead of him. She knocked on the screen door and heard a "Come in!" shouted from somewhere inside.

Valerie pulled the door open, stepping into a welcoming and cosy foyer to the sound of a child screaming and a loud TV playing in the other room.

She frowned, stepping further inside and peering around a corner into the kitchen. She saw Gemma then, a fussing toddler on her hip, stirring something on the stove that smelled amazing. When she looked up and saw Valerie she smiled broadly.

"Sorry," she said, nodding to the stove. "I only had time for spaghetti."

Valerie could smell that it wasn't a can of Ragu in that saucepan and she heard her stomach rumble. She hadn't eaten lunch; she hadn't been hungry thanks to the head on her desk.

"That smells amazing," she said, allowing a smile. Then she remembered the bottle of wine and held it up. "My contribution. As a thanks for the hospitality."

Gemma was nodding. "I like that one. Corkscrew's in the drawer closest to you." She looked over Valerie's shoulder. "Phil, take her bag to the spare room."

"Sure."

The big kid toddled down the hallway and Valerie went hunting for the corkscrew. She could see through a half-way to the living room and noticed another child watching cartoons. She turned back with the corkscrew. "Are these Jax's kids?"

Gemma nodded while still intent on stirring. "Yep. This little monkey is John, named after his grandpa. And in the other room is Abel. I'm looking after them while Jax is out of town with the guys."

Valerie was peeling the foil cap off the wine. "Where's Tara?"

The silence that followed was strange. "She's inside for a while."

That brought Valerie's head around. "What? _Tara_?" It seemed preposterous.

Gemma shrugged. "Something to do with smuggling a weapon into prison."

"Holy sh-I mean ..." she let it trail off in deference to the kids.

Gemma turned back to her. "Yeah. Sometimes we do weird shit."

Okay, so swearing in front of the rug rats was apparently okay after all.

Valerie got the cork out of the wine, then Gemma asked her to hold the youngest while she got the pasta ready.

Valerie had no maternal instincts. Her mommy chromosome was permanently screwed up. It never matured. Call it what you would, she just had no interest. When offered she shook her head and inevitably backed away.

"No, I'm not good with kids," she explained as the kid was thrust at her.

Too late. He was in her hands lest he be dropped, and she held him out, arms-length like something that was dripping.

He was staring at her, suddenly mute. Big blue eyes were suddenly so curious and interested in her held her rapt for a moment.

Valerie brought him closer, propping him on her hip like Gemma had him. His fist was in his mouth, drool running down, eyes locked on hers.

"Hey," she said, no baby-voice available in her repertoire, apparently. "I'm Valerie."

He blinked and sighed. She had to laugh, then looked up to see Gemma staring at her with a broad smile. She made a motion from the kid to Valerie. "Those things look good on you."

Valerie shook her head. "Oh no, I don't think so. Kids hate me."

Gemma just nodded. "Yeah, clearly."

"Usually they do," Valerie said absently, staring at this unspoiled face as he grabbed a hand full of hair. "Usually they're screaming and trying to get away."

How the hell had her mother done it? She'd raised two girls in _this. _Was it different with boys? She had no idea. It didn't matter when they were _this _small. Christ, they were so vulnerable and had no idea how fucked up their situation was.

The kid suddenly smiled and it caught her so off guard she laughed again.

The kids, and Phil, were fed first, then he took them both to the front room to play and watch TV in their pajamas. Then Gemma and Valerie both started their second glasses of wine and sat down to eat.

Definitely sauce from scratch. She couldn't keep her appreciation to herself, moaning out an "Oh my God this is good."

Gemma's smile was pleased. Then she asked a big, important question. "So. You killed two men the night before last and you can sit here eating like nothing happened."

Valerie swallowed before she could choke, washing it down with a gulp of wine. "Sorry?"

Gemma's face was so shrewd. Fuck this woman was smart. "You can't just kill people that cold. Even if they _did _hurt you. You're not a psychopath. Or are you?"

Valerie stared at the stem of her wine glass. "I've ... had moments where I really thought I was."

"Really? Can you tell me about those moments?"

Valerie pondered that for a micro-second. "Nah. Sorry Gemma, we're not there yet." Then she raised her eyes to meet Gemma's.

The older woman was nodding, then she almost coughed a laugh. "Jesus, you remind me of me."

Valerie knew her eyes got big. "What?"

A cell phone rang. Gemma held her stare for another moment before getting up and grabbing a phone off the counter. "Yeah?" She asked, eyes at the ceiling. "Hey baby." Pause. "No, they're fine. You know they're never a problem." She turned away from the table and wandered further into the kitchen. "There was an ... _incident_ at the head shrinker's office. Someone left her a head." Pause while Valerie died a bit inside, rubbing her temple. "Yeah, Juice got rid of it. No cops, don't worry." Another pause. "No, she's staying here. Phil's with us. Juice is around if we need him, too."

Valerie pushed spaghetti around her plate, biting her lip as she realized that Jax was likely with Tig and about to tell him all this. He'd hit the fucking roof -

"Yeah, she's here right now. Hey, Tigger. Relax. She's fine. I promise. Here she is." Gemma turned back with a smile on her face. "I guess he overheard."

Valerie took the phone, not sure if it was rude to make room between herself and Gemma, then decided _Fuck it_. She got up and strode away into the kitchen as Gemma had.

"Hello?" She said, willing herself to sound _strong. Safe_.

"Val. What the fuck?"

She had to smile at that loud, obnoxious tone. "Tig, I'm fine."

"What the fuck happened? When were they in your house?"

She sighed. "I don't know. After work I went to get groceries, then I was home all night. It must have happened while I was gone -"

"Jesus, I hope so. If they got in while you were sleeping -"

"I know," she cut him off. "That's why Gemma brought me here. She says I'm sleeping here until you're back," she dropped her voice, "to take good care of me."

There was a pause and she swore she could hear him smile. "I'm coming back as soon as I can."

"Really, I'm fine."

"Babe, I miss you."

Now it was her turn to smile. But she kept it sounding sarcastic. "Yeah, I bet you do."

"Honestly. Nothing here smells as good as you, babe."

"Sure, sure." But she was grinning anyway.

"You miss me yet?"

Now she let her smile creep into her voice. "I miss you so much."

"Tell me what you're wearing."

She shook her head, laughing. "Jeans. A T-shirt. Really hot."

"I don't know why I bother asking. I'm just remembering you with nothing on." She felt her cheeks turn pink. He laughed like he knew it was happening. "Behave and be nice to Gemma."

"Of course."

"Good night, babe."

"Good night."

She ended the call, putting the phone back on the spot where Gemma had grabbed it from and reclaimed her seat at the table. Yeah, she was still smiling, and Gemma seemed amused by it.

"Yeah," Gemma remarked absently, picking up her fork. "You remind me a lot of me."

* * *

**As always, your comments and reviews are more than welcome! I love them all!**


	29. Chapter 29

Valerie had a fantastic night's sleep in a strange bed; half a bottle of red and a joint no doubt helping to knock her right out. When she woke early the next morning it was to the smell of fresh coffee.

She got up and changed into fresh clothes, having slept in underwear and her T-shirt. She still couldn't believe those kids hadn't woken up at some point crying. Then again, Phil had played hide and seek with them until they were all but passed out in each hiding spot.

She left the bedroom tentatively, still feeling strange to be in this house. Gemma had never elaborated on what about Valerie reminded her of herself, but the thought was still haunting her.

Gemma was at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette, staring out the window, mug of coffee in front of her. She didn't know Valerie was watching her yet. She was stunning, Valerie realized. She had the kind of beauty that only came from seeing a lot and surviving plenty of shit with brains and grace.

Gemma looked up and Valerie smiled, venturing into the kitchen. "Hey."

"Good morning. Coffee's all I ever have for breakfast."

Valerie nodded, moving to pour herself a mug. "Thank you again, Gemma."

There was no response as she joined the woman at her kitchen table. Gemma crushed the cigarette dead in the ash tray on the centre of the table. "It's not a problem. Like I said, we take care of each other."

Valerie took a sip of coffee and stared out at what Gemma had been looking at. A regular-looking street of family homes, the sun just starting to paint them brighter.

"Jax sent me a text. They'll be heading back later today." Valerie let herself smile, looking back to Gemma to find her smiling as well. "There's something about them coming back to you in one piece, that's for sure."

Valerie looked down, aware she was probably blushing. "Is your husband with them too?" Gemma titled her head and paused, making Valerie wonder what she'd said now. "What?"

Gemma shook her head. "Nothing. I thought you might have been told. My husband's in prison for killing a guy named Damon Pope."

Valerie frowned, knowing the name but not sure where -

"The prick that killed Dawn Trager. He's the one the club set up for that kill."

There was no real remorse, and Valerie found herself horrified. She knew he'd been _framed_ for it?

Of course she knew, Valerie realized. Her son had arranged for it all. _Jesus Christ -_

"Don't feel too sorry for my husband," she said wryly before taking another gulp of coffee. "He's done plenty of bad things to decent people. He was no angel."

A chirping sound filled the room while Valerie contemplated that kind of indifference and Gemma pulled her phone from her pocket, reading the screen. She frowned, then looked to Valerie. "It's Jax. He said to turn on the news."

She got up right away and made for the living room so Valerie followed, taking her mug with her. Gemma used the remote to flip her set on, moving through the channels and heading for the closest network news.

"Stop," Valerie said suddenly, and Gemma did as she asked. Valerie didn't know how but she certainly recognized the partially burnt structure on the screen as the one where she'd killed two men, the one Chibbs had torched. "Shit," she muttered, realizing she hadn't heard anything about bodies discovered in burnt cabins out in the boonies since then.

Gemma cranked the volume a bit. The newscaster's voice came up. "... authorities report that two headless bodies were found in one room of the structure, as well as another complete body in a second room."

"What?" Valerie said suddenly. "_Two _headless bodies?"

Gemma turned to her. "So where's the other fucking head?"

Before taking her home Gemma had to stop at Teller-Morrow to open the gates for the crew working that day. Gemma unlocked the padlock on the gate, and a burly guy with more tattoos than hair shoved the gate to the side. Valerie should have called it as soon as they heard it on the news.

"What the fuck?" The big guy looked ready to throw up. But this was Valerie's second burnt and decapitated head in as many days so she just walked up to it, seeing the bullet hole in the temple first. The head had rolled on its side after being tossed over the fence and it was resting in the same position as it had been when she put a round through it.

"Get some garbage bags," Gemma snapped at someone. "Get rid of it before people start showing up."

Someone closed the gate, which was smart. Suddenly Gemma was next to her with a big black trash bag, staring down at the thing as well. "Nice work," she muttered wryly. "They sure are dead. But why can't they stay where you left them?"

They rolled the head into the bag and handed it off to Phil to dispose of. Valerie didn't know what that would entail any more than she had the first one.

"Honey," Gemma instructed. "Let Juice take you home, okay? He can stay there to make sure you're safe."

Valerie nodded, knowing her expression was likely too appreciative. "Thank you so much Gemma -"

"Don't mention it, honey. Just get home, get all cleaned up and put on your Doc face."

Valerie nodded, seeing Juice for the first time in the crowd. He waved to her. She nodded, then paused and hugged Gemma almost as an after-thought. "Thank you," she repeated, pulling back and catching Gemma's look of shock.

She stared at Valerie long and hard, then gave a motherly smile. "Take care of yourself, Valerie."

She nodded and then followed Juice to a big black van. She could have used the fresh air of a ride on a bike but she bet there was a rule now about what bike she was even allowed to be on the back of.

Juice was quiet as he drove her back to her home, and as soon as they pulled up he held his hand out for her keys and argued when she insisted she'd go in with him. He was going to check everything was all safe and undisturbed before letting her in. That was that.

He had her stand on the front walkway while he opened the door to her house. After a quick survey he came back out, looking worried.

"What is it?" She asked, stomach sinking.

"I don't know. I think someone went through your underwear drawer."

"_What_?"

"That drawer is open, but it's the only thing out of place."

Her mind scanned back, and honestly she couldn't remember packing. But it was absolutely possible she left it open when she'd been packing before going to Gemma's.

Ah, Christ. The poor guy -

"I wouldn't worry," she said, stepping past him into her foyer. "It's possible I left it open myself."

He hustled in after her, clearly still worried. "Are you sure? I mean, I can do another sweep -"

She shook her head. "Now that I think about it, it's completely possible." She stopped short, turning on him with a raised eyebrow. "You didn't take a good look or anything, did you?"

The look of horror was instant. "No, no I swear it."

She allowed herself to smile and motioned him to follow. "I'm kidding, Juice. Come in."

His relief was just as quick. "Christ, Doc. Please don't even joke about that."

Valerie couldn't help but chuckle, closing the front door. "So, what are you going to do all day?"

Juice shrugged, turning a circle in her living room. "I don't know. Watch TV I guess."

Valerie showed him the remote, not that he needed instruction on how to work the stereo and TV. She told him to eat or drink what he wanted, then she went to shower and get ready for her first clients, trying to push the thought of human heads to the back of her mind for the next few hours.


	30. Chapter 30

Valerie was able to conduct business without being aware of the young biker just on the other side of a connecting door in her lobby. Teresa was her usual lovely self, stink-eyeing her final two couples of the day based solely on their body art and piercings. She was just thinking that she really should talk to Teresa about how apparent her intolerance was to the people coming through the office when it struck her how lovely Teresa had always been to _her_.

With Valerie she'd been absolutely delightful for the past few weeks. The time would come when Teresa would realize the only reason she no longer saw Tig Trager at the office was due to Valerie's relationship with him.

She watched through her office door as Teresa shut off her computer, shut her dayplanner and stored the book away in the locking drawer of her desk. Valerie felt a sadness suddenly, brought on by the realization that Teresa was the first non-patient that she got to know somewhat since moving here. She'd been helpful, welcoming and more than sympathetic after the attack.

Teresa would lose it when she found out about her and Tig, Valerie knew it. She'd likely quit.

Her assistant looked up just then, flashing her pleasant smile at Valerie. "Is everything okay?" She asked, clearly concerned.

"Yeah. Absolutely."

Teresa paused in her doorway, leaning on the jamb. "You seem kinda down."

Valerie shook her head. "No. No, I'm fine."

Teresa strode forward, sitting on the closest end of the sofa. "You ... miss him, don't you?"

Valerie was surprised. "What?"

Teresa smiled. "I mean that psychotic Tig Trager. I think you miss him."

Valerie couldn't remember how much she let on to Teresa about her feelings. She came up blank; she'd never said anything.

"Teresa," she began, but the woman waved her hand.

"You know I didn't like him," the blonde began slowly. "But ... I think I get it. Valerie, he's a dangerous thrill that can get a person killed. It's not worth it."

Valerie swallowed, just nodding as though she appreciated the support.

"He had his charms, I'm sure. And a woman that presented a challenge to him was likely quite interesting to him. But this is right. Stopping his treatment was a good idea. There's no helping some people."

Valerie winced internally, and she was somewhat wishing she could tell Teresa how much she had in common with this _psychotic_. But she kept her lip buttoned.

"Anyway," Teresa said brightly, tapping the desk and standing. "We're still on for tomorrow night, right?"

Oh for fuck's sake, she'd forgotten the night of wings and beers she'd promised Teresa. She smiled as brightly as she could. "Of course. It's a date."

Teresa smiled and spun on her heel, issuing a sing-song "Good night!" over her shoulder.

Valerie rubbed her temples. Christ, as much as Teresa might drive her nuts she was good at her job for the most part. Hiring a new person half as good would be next to impossible.

She shut all the blinds and locked up the office, making her way through the joining door to her home. Juice was flipping through the channels on her TV, looking disappointed in the variety of daytime programming.

"Sorry," Valerie said, noticing he was on a daytime talk show. "I only get basic. I don't watch a lot of TV."

He shrugged. "Nah, no problem. Paternity tests never get old." The sarcasm was far from subtle.

She crossed to her kitchen, yanking the fridge open. "You hungry?"

"Always."

"We have time to eat, right?"

He nodded, flicking off the TV. "Yeah. You want help?"

She'd left some chicken thawing in the fridge the day before, and she pulled that out. "Nah. I think I got it."

He sat at the breakfast bar, watching her pre-heat the stove and mix some parmesan crust. "So ..." he began, interested in his own hands suddenly. "You shrink heads."

Valerie smiled. "Yeah. I do."

"I know Tig was seeing you for his own reasons, professionally. But with what's going on now with you two, honestly ... I can't see it. Even after what he told us about your family, and hearing how you took care of those guys ..."

Teresa froze, looking him in the eye. "What are you trying to ask me?"

Juice looked conflicted. "You still seem like a really ... nice, normal lady. I'm just baffled I guess. Tig's one of the scariest people I know."

Valerie let her smile come. "Yeah, me too. I can't explain it, Juice." Then her voice got more pointed. "And I don't_ have_ to explain it."

His eyes got big and she would have sworn he even paled a bit as he swallowed hard. She was able to last about two seconds before cracking up.

He sighed, running a hand over his head, finally smiling. "My God. You're perfect for him. I take it all back."

She smiled, ripping aluminum off the roll and pressing it into the cookie sheet. "Relax, Juice. I'm probably as perplexed as you are most of the time."

He chopped up a few vegetables for a salad and they ate on the raised counter, each having a beer. When the meal was done she checked the clock on the stove. "When are they expected back?" She had to ask.

Juice tipped the last of his beer down his throat. "Umm, not until about ten. I got a call from Jax when they left, and that was around two-thirty this afternoon."

She was disappointed. It was just after six.

Juice smiled at her. "Go get dressed and we'll head over to the clubhouse to wait."

She looked down at her clothes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gave her the sassiest look she never would have expected. "You look nice, don't get all _girly _like that. You _always _look nice. What I mean is ..." he sighed. "You look like a psychologist. With the earth tones and beige. It's very inoffensive and not distracting." He frowned. "People might mistake you for a parole officer or something."

"What?"

He waved her off her chair, grabbing her plate. "Go put on something short, colourful. Tight. I'll do the dishes."

"It doesn't matter what I wear. This is what he knows me as."

Juice nodded. "Yeah, I know. But you'll be more comfortable a little more dressed down. I'm just recommending it."

Valerie scowled at his back as he carried their dishes to the sink. Then she remembered the memorial service at the club, how silly she'd felt based solely on what she was wearing.

It was ridiculous, but of course she followed his advice.

When she emerged from her room some twenty-five minutes later she was tugging the black skirt down closer to her knees. When she'd bought it on a Vegas trip with Malcolm she clearly hadn't tried it on first. Or if she had, it was under the confusion of alcohol. It was nowhere near long enough, but it did hug her hips nicely. The deep blue-green sleeveless blouse was simple; it hung low front and back, no fancy buttons or decoration to it, just the shimmer of the material. She'd bought it because it brought out her green eyes. As she came down the hall carrying black strappy shoes Juice looked up from the sofa where he'd been waiting, and the expression on his face was probably the best she could hope for. He just stared.

She pushed her hair behind her ear. "Is this bad?"

He shook his head. "Nah. That's ... wow. You look ... hot."

She raised a finger. "Careful."

"_Respectfully_ hot," he qualified. "Wow."

She shook her head. "Too long to be staring."

"Jesus, sorry." He got up as she sat on the ottoman to put the shoes on, careful to mind the length of the skirt, which took some real skill.

When she looked up again, he was leaning against the wall watching her, smiling. God save her from that white smile and dimples. It was nearly too much; all the adorable was going to kill her. "What?" She asked, getting to her feet.

"Nothing. You're just ... you're almost too pretty for where I'm taking you, Val."

She would have blushed if she could get it out of her head that she was old enough to have baby-sat him. "Juice," she began, going for her purse.

"I'm not being creepy, swear to God. You're just not what we're used to."

Valerie smiled and patted his cheek. "Just drive me there."

"Yes ma'am."


	31. Chapter 31

The bikes hit the Teller-Morrow lot in a line, headlights performing a synchronization act as the Sons pulled in to their spots and killed the engines. A few women ran to their men. Valerie had been talking to Gemma, sitting on a picnic table. At the sight of that lineup they'd both stopped talking, watching the spectacle.

The other women outside the building all straightened up, a few of the more _accessible _ones fluffing hair and smacking their gum while exchanging knowing glances with each other.

"Go to him," Gemma instructed, pushing on Valerie's arm. "It's what they expect."

She stood, unsure. She took a few strides away from the table, trying to see over the other heads in the way. She recognized the hair first. Tig was walking next to another Son, one Valerie couldn't remember the name of, and had the man's bald head in a headlock while telling him something that was evidently quite funny by the way they both burst into laughter.

Valerie couldn't miss the exact moment he saw her. His eyes fell on her, and she felt a thrill run up her back. He let the man go with a shot to his stomach, then his pace increased as he came to her.

She stayed where she was, feeling her face break into a grin when his did. When was close he didn't say a thing, he just grabbed her by the hips, yanked her close and covered her mouth with his roughly and aggressively. She wound her arms around his neck, playing with his hair and breathing deep. He smelled like leather, heat, dust, and sweat. Absolutely perfect.

When he pulled back slightly she was breathless, her body thrilling as he said simply, "You're in trouble, woman. Looking like that."

She rose on to her toes, just to have her face closer to his. "I missed you."

He kissed her again, hands feeling big and possessive on her back. Then he pulled back and rested his forehead on hers. "We're having a short meeting. Don't go anywhere."

She ran her thumb over his bottom lip, hands on his neck. "I won't," she promised.

"Come on Tigger, plenty of time for that later," the man he'd had in a headlock said as he passed.

"Fuck off," Tig snapped before kissing her again, smiling down at her. "Stay," he whispered, then let go of her and joined the stream of Sons flooding towards the clubhouse.

She watched him walk away as a voice said "Good evening, Valerie." She spared Chibbs a withering glance as he passed by her with a wink.

He stopped, feigning hurt. "What? What have I done to deserve that look?"

She just shook her head.

"I had to make sure you'd be true to my friend, didn't I?" His voice honestly sounded almost apologetic.

She couldn't help it, she laughed. "You're lucky I didn't mulch your balls."

"Aye," he conceded with a chuckle, then rubbed his chin. "The jaw's still not right. I think you got a better shot in than he did."

"What? He hit you?"

Chibbs just shrugged, then continued to the clubhouse with the rest, laughing the entire way. Valerie was left grinning, embarrassed to find the whole macho-bullshit thing kind of sexy.

The women were all left outside again. Gemma joined her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "The waiting sucks," Gemma conceded as though reading her mind. Then she brought her head closer to Valerie's, like a conspirator. "But trust me, the longer you wait the better the sex is."

Valerie burst into an almost nervous laugh, covering her mouth as a few of the other woman turned to look at them. Normally the looks would have made her nervous, but no one was saying anything to her when she was standing next to Gemma Morrow.

Gemma took her hand. "Come on. Let's go in and get a drink. The skanks can wait outside."

She let the club's matriarchal old lady lead her through the bleached, tanned and overly-made-up throng to the clubhouse bar, making her way behind the counter. "If I remember," Gemma said, scanning the shelf under the bar, "you like bourbon."

Valerie smiled. "Yes, I do."

"The good stuff is under here," Gemma explained, producing a bottle and two glasses.

"Do you know where they went? The last few days?" Valerie asked, curious and realizing she hadn't even asked Gemma that.

Gemma shrugged as she poured. "This isn't a trip I was let in on. Club business, none of mine."

She shoved a glass at Valerie then set the bottle down. Valerie took a drink, nodding.

Gemma leaned on the glossy counter, smiling. "You can ask what it was about if you want. But you likely won't be told. Sometimes they need us to be in on it, usually they don't. If it had anything to do with you personally, Tig would have told you. If not, he'll keep his mouth shut."

"I know. I just wondered if you were still in on the secrets, being Jax's mom and all."

Gemma shook her head. "Nah. He's running things. Not me."

That was a weird thing to hear her say, but then the door to the chapel was swinging open and the men were spinning out into the main room in a cacophony of raised voices and excited conversation. Valerie couldn't help it; she got to her feet again as soon as she saw Tig. He was smiling from something Jax was saying but once that conversation was done he bee lined right to her, grabbing her around the waist. "We're not staying out here," he promised, muttering it right to her ear.

She shrugged, casual. "I was enjoying a drink with Gemma. I don't know what _you _have planned now but -"

Quicker than she could track he grabbed the glass, downed the bourbon and had her by the wrist, pulling her with him down the hallway to the dorm rooms.

Her pulse was quickening, a flush breaking out on her skin. It only got worse as he pushed his door open, pulled her through and locked them inside.

His hands found her shoulders in the dark, and his lips met hers with perfect aim. Not a word said she arched her back, pressing into him as his tongue took ownership. His hands were under her blouse, desperate to find skin. He yanked the shirt off over her head impatiently, then fell to kissing her again.

"Wait," she whispered. He made a sound of frustration. "Turn on a light."

"Why?" He had her bra off, hands on her breasts, lips and tongue tasting her neck.

She closed her eyes, knowing how pleading this would sound. "I need to see your face. I want to see your eyes."

He stopped, hands sliding down to her hips. He steadied his breathing. "Okay," he whispered, pulling her by her hand across the room. He switched on the lamp that was next to the sofa bed, then turned back to her and pulled her close again. "Better?" He whispered, eyes on hers.

She nodded. "Sorry. I just -"

He shook his head, smile broadening. "Don't say sorry." He kissed her softly, giving her gooseflesh again.

His lips were softer on hers now, the light seeming to bring him down a couple of levels. Tig eased her back onto the mattress slowly, hands smoothing across her skin; careful and reverent. She let him reach under the skirt, pulling down the black lace underwear she'd had on. He touched her carefully, finding her already wet. He replaced his hand with his mouth, and without much more effort she was gasping softly, biting her hand as her body trembled.

He pulled the skirt off completely, then stood to take off the leather kutte. His shirt was next, then he grasped her hands to bring her to her feet. "You don't have to be quiet," he drawled, kissing her again. "I'd prefer it if you _weren't_. Everyone knows what's going on in here."

Before she could reply he backed her across the room, his lips making sure she forgot all about the orgasm he'd just given her; she wanted another one immediately. She was backed into a piece of furniture and he reached down to yank a drawer open, still working her mouth with his. Condom found, he suddenly spun her around to face the dresser. Her hands slapped against the top, and he yanked her hips away from it so she was leaning over. Valerie knew she was panting, and she could see herself in the dresser mirror, face flushed, eyes wild with heat.

He was looking at her reflection, too. His hands were running down her sides, down the centre of her back, just staring at her in the mirror. She was breathing hard, mouth open, him doing the same. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, forcing her further down slightly.

Shaking himself back he grasped her hips hard, and she arched her back, bracing. It was as violent as she was expecting, and she immediately cried out as though climaxing. She kept her eyes on his reflection, and his eyes were on hers, too. The way his body churned against hers told her all she needed to know; he missed her. He'd waited to come back to her.

It was very brief, but it wasn't over until she was crying out, hands tightening on the dresser edge, nails unable to dig into the cheap and chipped finish. She could have sworn she saw fireworks. When he collapsed onto her back he was breathing heavy, kissing her between her shoulder blades. Tig drew her upright again, arms around her waist and kisses now pressing along her shoulder. Her legs were weak, her knees yet untested. Valerie's fleeting thought was that she had managed to keep those shoes on for this long and that it was pretty impressive.

His face was in her hair, breathing along her neck. Despite the sweat on her skin she was shivering now.

"Can we go to your place?" He asked, biting her ear.

She smiled. "If you like."

"I want to. I hate the thought of you in that bed."

She frowned at his reflection. "What?"

"It pisses me off I let you sleep there at all."

He was nipping at her neck again, tickling her. She giggled, pulling away. "It wouldn't bother me."

He grabbed her again to haul her against him, hand on the back of her neck, face gazing down on her, unreadable. "No. You deserve better."

She smiled as he kissed her quickly before heading for the bathroom. She found her underwear, pulled it all on, and was sliding on her skirt when she felt she was being watched. She looked up and Tig was staring at her, his face stoic but eyes bright.

Valerie smiled at him. He smiled back, only slightly. "What?" She asked.

He shook his head. "Can't believe it," he muttered. "I still can't fucking believe it."

"What?"

"That I get to kiss you. And touch you."

"If you weren't such a good kisser you wouldn't."

That made him cackle, coming forward to grab his shirt. She caught him by the arm, wrapping her arms around him before he could pull it back on. Just for that moment of contact.

"You're okay?" he asked, eyes running over her face.

"I'm fine. I was worried that he'd been in my house but … you're here now."

"I think he knew I was out of town."

"I think so, too," she agreed, and it made him set his jaw hard again.

"If I get my hands on him -"

She nodded. "I know, baby."

No one said anything for a moment. There was some kind of agreement being brokered here, one that meant he really wanted to handle this fourth guy himself. She could see the potential for pain and violence, and part of her wanted to see it rendered, too.

"I really missed you," he finally said softly, matter-of-fact, hands softly tracing over the skin of her back.

She watched his eyes as he said it, seeing that it was the absolute truth, his face relaxed to the point where she forgot _any _reasons to be afraid of him. "Let's go," she whispered. He just nodded before kissing her again.


	32. Chapter 32

"Hey."

Valerie's eyes flew open as she was jostled out of a light snooze. "What?"

"You weren't sleeping, were you?"

She laughed, rubbing her face. "I might have been."

"I'm not done with you for the night."

The second they'd reached her place he had been on her again. They didn't even make it to the bedroom. Hell, they didn't even make it all the way to _naked_. Her third orgasm of the night was enjoyed against the wall in the hallway, legs around his back, skirt hitched up around her waist, hands clutching the leather of his kutte, crying out indiscernible nothings that had actually echoed back to her off the walls.

Her house was sweltering from the humidity the past few days. As a breather they'd grabbed beers from the fridge and returned to her patio, enjoying an unusually warm night on her lounger, cuddled up again. If this was their post-coital SOP she was more than okay with it.

Another quiet pause while her eyes slid closed, opening again as Tig suddenly grabbed one of her hands, bringing it up to kiss the back. She had to smile, then looked up at him over her shoulder. "What's that all about?"

He was staring at her hand, locked in thought. "I'm thinking about you," he murmured slowly.

"Me? What about me?"

"How you look so good. Smell so good. Feel so good." She was laughing now as he pretended to bite her finger. "Taste so good," his voice dropped on that, setting off a flare of heat through her body again. "Just … perfect."

She rolled her head back again, wanting him to go on.

"With these gorgeous hands that took a gun and blew out two guys' brains. And you haven't even told me that it's giving you nightmares."

Now his eyes fell on hers, and she swallowed. This was reminding her of the aborted conversation in Gemma's kitchen; the one that starts out with the fact that she might or might not be psychopathic.

"It's not giving me nightmares," she said.

"I know. So … why not?"

"Because … they hurt me, Tig."

"You're a sweetheart, Val. It should be bugging you."

"Maybe. I don't know."

He took a deep breath, kissing the top of her head before exhaling. "The only woman I ever loved was … adorable. She was sweet, she could make me laugh while giving me shit, she was perfect. I was one of those schmucks fantasizing how I was gonna propose. If you can imagine me doing that."

She just smiled, turning her face back up to the stars.

"I wanted to have a family with her. Buy a house. All that shit. She got pregnant. A little ahead of schedule, but I was heading down the aisle with her no matter what."

He paused. She waited, her free hand on his where they both rested on her stomach.

"I wrecked it. Literally. She was on my bike, and I laid it down on the highway to avoid a logging truck. She was dead right away. The last thing she heard me say was _'Shit_._'"_

She tightened her grip on his hand, linking their fingers.

"Then I _did _get married, I was wanting that same … I don't know. But I wasn't the same person, and Colleen wasn't the same as the one I lost. It wasn't fair. She was a real bitch but I wasn't in love with her. I was in love with someone nothing like her."

"For months after her death I … I just kept seeing that truck. Feeling that horrible feeling that no matter what I did next we were fucked. And … when I came to and found her, limp and not breathing, all I could do was hold her hands. They weren't even scraped up. When she fell it was so fast and sudden she couldn't even bring her hands up … because she'd been holding onto _me_."

Valerie's eyes closed as he kissed her hand yet again.

"Those hands fucking haunted me for years. You'd think she was fine to just look at her hands." He let go of her hand, wrapping her up with both arms. "I look at your eyes Val, and I can't see the woman that took that gun and killed those guys." He kissed her head again. "She was cold. She was different. I didn't even recognize her."

"She _is_ a different person," Val conceded, sniffling now. "That's the person whose family was tortured and killed. She's the one that has the thoughts I can't bring myself to have. She's the one that survives all the bad shit so I don't have to."

She shuddered as she cried, and his grip on her tightened.

"Don't you shrinks have a word for that? _Compartmentalizing_?"

She smiled at the sarcastic tone he used. He still wanted her to laugh, but he wanted to know what else she'd done.

Dammit, he was pretty fucking smart.

"You want to know if those two were the first people I've killed?" she asked, head turned back slightly, not that she could really look at him anyway.

He kissed her temple. "I _know_ they weren't, babe. I want to know _who_ else you killed."

"I've never told anyone this."

"You don't have to. I want to know, but if this is Natalia's secret and she doesn't want me in on it, whatever. But I ain't buying for one second that night was your first hit."

"They all deserved it."

"I believe it."

She took a deep shuddering breath, staring down at his hands. "The men who killed my parents and my sister didn't even go into hiding," she said softly. "They were right in town. Renting a house. Getting ready to set up shop, sell drugs, and buy in with any MC that would have them. But most of them were too scared or didn't want the hassle of dealing with the mob."

"Where were you when all that was going on?"

"I was put into foster care. With a cop, actually. She was really nice. She had a soft spot for assault cases like mine. I mean, it likely was a strange situation but I think she knew someone at social services or whatever. She really wanted to take me in. Plus I was twelve and damaged. No one was adopting me anyway." He started playing with her hair. It was comforting. "She got me into protection. Fake name, all that. And she taught me to be tough. That I didn't have to be what other people decided I was. She put me in tae kwon do, she started taking me to the gun range when I was fifteen."

"Where was this?"

"Astoria. It's in Oregon. She, uh … she was killed when I was almost seventeen."

"Oh God, Val."

"Hit and run on a road check. But that was … that was as debilitating as anything else that had happened to me. Anchor up, off and floating again. But I was older and smarter by then. I got a job working to save up for school, I knew what I wanted to be even back then. I worked hard. No matter where I ended up in foster care I was getting good grades, applying for scholarships. But one night, not long after she died … I'll never forget it."

She _couldn't_ forget it. Even as she spoke she remembered the smell of sun-baked concrete and the smell of filled-to-capacity coolers running at full bore. The feeling of cold and sticky hands, the ache in her arm from scooping ice cream for hours.

She had to smile as she took a deep breath. "It was summer. I was working at this ice cream stand, and a guy pulled up in a car. He got out, asked for a cone, and when I handed it to him … the world just _stopped_. I mean, everything froze in place. 'Cause the guys that killed my parents had black crosses tattooed on their middle-finger, right here, between here and this knuckle." She showed him on her own hand, the longest stretch of bone in the middle finger. "And I'd told the police about that. Everyone knew about it. And when I looked at his face, I knew him. He had hazel eyes, they were likely the first hazel eyes I'd ever seen. I clearly remembered him looking at me as he cut my sister's throat."

Tig's hands tightened on her. But he didn't interrupt.

"How the hell was this guy even _there_? How could he not be in jail? I had basically handed him to them. And I just _knew _then that the police likely _did _know, and did nothing because of who these pricks were affiliated with. Sure, I didn't have to be a sad statistic of violence in America, but I also didn't have to put up with that kind of bullshit."

She wiped her eyes. She was leaking again.

"I let him eat his fucking ice cream cone. Then I approached him, sitting on these stone picnic tables they had out front. It still pisses me off that he didn't recognize me. He'd rendered all that damage and couldn't even recognize anything about me. He looked me up and down, and it just made my skin crawl." She smiled. "But … men are so _easy_. You really are."

She felt him shake his head. "No argument from me, babe."

"I told him I liked his car. And he said he'd be happy to take me for a ride. I told him I was working, but maybe later. Then I asked him where he lived."

"And of course he told you."

"Gave me an address. So I memorized it, finished my shift, and went home to get a good night's sleep. The next day I stole my foster father's shotgun, got on Dad's bike, and went looking for the house."

"Holy shit." His hand froze where it was, her hair forgotten.

"It was early. His car wasn't there. _No _vehicles, actually. So I broke in the back door. It was a clubhouse. A shitty, small three-room one. But there were little bags of pot and crack on a table, this big, round poker table, right in the middle of the room. It stunk of beer and stale cigars and vodka. In the back room there was this bedroom with a bed, handcuffs on the headboard. There were guns hidden in the most _fucking obvious_ places. So I took stock of the place, learned what all the rooms were, which doors could lock from where, where all the windows were, and when I left I emptied all the weapons I found. I killed some time. The sun went down. Then I went back."


	33. Chapter 33

Natalia sat astride her father's bike, knapsack on her back. She watched the hole-in-the-wall building, counting five men in total who arrived within a few minutes of each other. Three of them she thought could very well be men who'd been there when her family was killed. The other two were only _maybes_. That was good enough for her.

It was so dangerous and stupid. At any time other people could have shown up to thwart what she had planned. Her recon had taken all of half a day. She had no idea the patterns they observed; whether or not the dealers came there every night or if they were selling shit right out the front door. Any number of things could go wrong. And with her track record, _all _possible, horrible things could most _definitely _go wrong.

But at sixteen everything is make-or-break time. Emotions were immediate, your own present state of mind the only thing that really mattered. And Natalia was plenty fucked up by then, really. She'd already decided she'd die trying to kill them rather than just let them go on breathing to save her own skin.

She made sure the skirt was short. The tank top was clingy, but it hid almost all the scars. The one on her left breast was still visible, but it was barely a pink little trail; it looked like she'd scratched herself recently.

Her heart wasn't pounding at all when she knocked on the door. The man that opened it only cracked it about five inches, peering down at her. Then her cleavage. Then her legs. It actually fine-tuned her anger.

She'd watched the girls at school long enough to know how the ones desperate for attention acted. She gave a smile upwards, gazing out from under her lashes. She asked for the "guy that drives that car." Then she pointed to the cherry-red Corvette and did her best to look like she was all but swooning at the sight of it.

The guy had given a knowing laugh, turned and yelled "Shasha!" followed by more rapid-fire Russian she only half-understood. _Legs_ she caught, _tits_ was in there, too. He then turned his gaze back to her, blatantly staring at her to the point where normally her skin would have shrunk. But she kept up the doe-eyed routine, the very picture of a bad little girl in way over her head.

The door was pulled all the way open, and the hazel-eyed one named Sasha was staring down at her now too, a smile of recognition coming over his face. "Valerie," he greeted her, shoving the other man out of the way and closing the door.

She just smiled, authentically unsure what to say.

"You want take ride in my car, yes?"

She shrugged. "I guess. It's cold out here, though."

His eyes were on her chest, and he stepped up to her, running his hand along the side of her face. "You want to come in?"

She just shrugged again. He leaned in to her, his breath a stinking mixture of booze and something else that smelled like _burning_. "If you come in, there's no coming out unless you've been good and used. You understand me?"

Her heart did speed up then. Not fear or doubt. Anger. The anger came back like a calming wash, and she just smiled. "I just need a few dollars," she said, embarrassed. "Anything I can do to … help out around here."

Magic words. He took her wrist, pulling her into the main room of the house. There was a lot of Russian talk, the men all letting their eyes roam over her as filthily as if they _were _touching her, smiles crossing their faces as they sucked on cigarettes and listened to whatever Sasha was saying. For her own mental health she tuned out after hearing the words _taking a share of her ass_ in Russian. They all laughed when he was done and went back to their card games.

Sasha pulled her through the room, one man grabbing her ass on the way by, and pulled her to the back bedroom where she'd seen the single bed with its handcuffs. He shut the door, locked it, then grabbed her shirt, ripping it down the middle.

Natalia's shock and surprise were real. She stumbled back, hitting the ground on her ass next to the bed. He was spitting words at her in Russian, and she did her best to look scared as she reached under the bed.

Stroke of luck number one: she found the shotgun, where she'd left it that morning, and swung it on him so fast he wasn't done talking by the time that first round hit him in the centre of the chest. He was dead when he hit the ground.

She replaced the round as voices were shouting in the other room. She searched his waist band, found the .45 he'd had in the small of his back, finding it still empty from when she's pilfered their ammo before. She reloaded it with rounds from her backpack, set it next to her on the bed, and kept the shotgun braced. She waited.

The first man burst through the door, gun drawn. Stroke of luck number two: he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Her second shotgun blast opened his chest. Ditto on dead guy number three. Dead guy number four got a round from the .45 through the forehead when he lunged at her, finding his gun also void of ammunition. Natalia shoved his body off of her then stepped out into the main room. Dude number five was nowhere to be seen.

She kept the .45 pointed at the ground, her body humming with adrenalin, hands shaking from the recoil of the shotgun. Her ears were ringing with the need to hear anything that would give her a clue as to where the fifth man had gone. Then she got one; the scuff of a shoe on linoleum. He was in the bathroom.

She'd seen a shotgun behind the door earlier. She'd emptied both barrels when she left, but then she had a bit of doubt. What if they had more shells hidden in there somewhere and she'd missed them?

Natalia kicked the poker table on its side, making a hell of a racket as poker chips and beer bottles went flying around the room. She dropped down behind the table, checking the rounds she still had left in the .45. Only down one, just like she thought.

"Is that crazy bitch still alive?" a voice shouted from the bathroom, sounding a bit hysterical.

She smiled, blood still plenty cold. "Is that fucking coward with the three-inch dick still alive?" She shouted back.

He laughed. "Little girl, you have no idea what you started here. My dick is least of your worries. You couldn't get it if you wanted."

"I hope I can learn to deal with this crushing disappointment," she yelled back.

Pause. "What?"

"Fuck you."

He laughed again. "Nah, princess. We played that game before. Your mother lost. So did your daddy. So did your sister."

She had no way to answer. She was just crying, suddenly and silently.

"That's right, honey. Took a second, but you look like your mom. I really should have remembered you, though. That was the tightest bit of ass I've had, sweetheart. Your sister had a pretty sweet pussy too but really, she just laid there. You fought though … I still remember how you fought."

She rose above the table and put two rounds through the bathroom door. He was shouting, then when the echo died off he was laughing again. "You don't like? Is compliment."

"I wish I could say I remember it, but I don't," she lied.

"I'll refresh your memory. Once you're on floor bleeding out. I'll remind you."

"Stop talking about it and do it," she shouted. Natalia stood up, arms out, ready to take her shot, facing the bathroom. She could see the holes she'd put in the door. She could see his head as he blocked the light from inside. She could see a shotgun barrel pointing out those holes

Stroke of luck numbers three and four: he was an idiot _and _a bad shot. He couldn't aim for shit like that to begin with, and now she knew where he was. The blast from the shotgun hit a wall three feet to her left. She put the remaining three rounds from the .45 in a cluster that would have made the late Trooper Tanya Gill proud somewhere above the shotgun barrel. It suddenly swung upward, firing a round into the ceiling. Then she watched it slide back into the bathroom, clattering to the floor.

Natalia dropped to her knee again, reloaded the .45, then approached the bathroom door with more confidence than she should have. She kicked it inward. It swung a bit, hit something and got stuck. Barrel pointed downward she squeezed around the door through the little opening she had, setting one foot on the stock of the shotgun as soon as she saw it. Following the path of the weapon, she circled the door, saw blood, and stared down at a man with two holes in his face, cheap pressboard-door embedded in his forehead. His eyes stared upwards, unseeing.

Stroke of luck number five: she was still fucking _alive_.

Natalia left the bathroom, sunk to the floor in the main room for just a second. This was a bad neighbourhood. Police likely wouldn't even be called. But she sure couldn't hang around. She wiped the .45's grip of fingerprints with her skirt, dropping it on the floor right away.

She tore into her knapsack, changed out of the trashy shit she'd shown up in, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt instead. She hid her hair under a ballcap, grabbed her foster father's shotgun out of the bedroom, left her clothes in a pile on the floor and walked out. Her dad's bike was still in the empty lot across the street parked behind an old cube van. Stowing the gun away in a pool cue case she took her first long shuddering breath.

Now her hands shook. Now she felt like her blood was body-temperature again.

_Now _she felt like she'd made it right. So she started the bike, took off down the street at an unassuming speed, and never once looked back.


	34. Chapter 34

Valerie had curled into a ball as she told the story. Tig had pulled her across his lap, holding her back and legs as she spoke. He never once interrupted her. Now she was done, crying all run out, chest aching in the centre, his shirt soaked through with tears. He waited for her to get herself back to the present. Her ragged breathing stopped, she wiped her face and closed her eyes for a moment, reminding herself she was here. She was okay.

He let go of her legs to take her hand in his again, pulling it up to kiss it, then holding it against his chest. At the gesture she felt tears come up again, but totally different from the ones that pain from reliving the moment had given her.

When she did sit up away from him she was still wiping her cheeks, and she gave him a small smile, which he returned. She knew by then that face could express great sorrow, and even with the smile she could tell that story upset him plenty.

Valerie was completely naked. No one else knew this much about her. Inexplicably, she suddenly felt uncomfortable. She tried to stand up, but he pulled her back down.

"Hey," he said, soothing. "Where'd you go? You're on lockdown again."

She shook her head. "Like I said, no one knows that story. At _all._"

He pushed her hair out of her face, turning her face to him with both hands. "I really didn't need another reason to think you're amazing."

She just blinked.

He kissed her softly, then kept his face close as he opened his eyes again. "If you're not careful," he said in the makings of a teasing tone, "I am going to fall for you."

She felt her brow furrow and tears come back. He pulled her back to his arms, stroking her hair and kissing her head again.

Her worry about him hearing the story melted as his words sunk in. Yeah, he'd said that. Before she'd even completely thought it to _herself, _he _said _it out loud. She sat up, peering up into his face as he circled her hair around his finger, watching it.

"Let's go to bed," she suggested.

"You're tired," he said by way of a _yes._

"Not at all," she whispered, bringing that ridiculously odd but sexy smile back to his face.

She got to her feet, pulling him up by one hand and led him through her patio door. He locked it behind him and she shut off the outside lights, then the kitchen lights. He dropped his arm down across her shoulders as they made their way down the hallway, not saying a word. In her bedroom he let her go, and she pulled the shirt off over her head, dropped the skirt and panties, undid the bra and let it all hit the ground before climbing under the sheets.

Tig turned the washroom light on, then closed the door most of the way. The fact that he basically turned on a nightlight for her made her want to cry.

He undressed in the dim glow and she couldn't _not _watch, smiling as he climbed into bed naked. He saw her face and just shook his head, chucking. "There is something wrong with you," he reminded her as she nestled in close to him. She pulled him to her with both hands on his face, kissing him carefully and softly. As always he responded, hands sliding under her back as he rolled onto her. He wasn't aggressive or pushy at all, but Valerie could still sense how much he wanted her, but this time it just seemed like she was being _savoured _more than before.

Valerie was so lost in that kiss it was a bit of a surprise as he pushed her thighs apart and slid into her all in one movement. She'd known it was coming but Jesus, that kiss could be so tender yet consuming when he wanted it to be. The fact that he could sneak up on her like that was a bit startling. He moved with agonizing gentleness, slow and steady. Even though this could still feel so new and different, her body recognized every motion and movement, and he knew how to bring about perfect pleasure as though they'd been like this for years.

She climaxed while biting his shoulder, gasping out his first name as a gust of breath. He rose up on elbows to gaze down on her, stilling. She closed her eyes to catch her breath, feeling light-headed and weightless. It hadn't made her scream but that had been a hell of an intense experience.

She put a hand to his cheek, smiling up at him. "Amazing," she whispered.

"What?"

"How you can do that."

"Babe, you're the one with all the talent here."

She chuckled, cut off by his mouth again and rendered officially _distracted _by the motion of his hips, moving a bit more rapidly but no less gentle. There she was, barely through one orgasm, and the movement made her bite her fingernails into his back again while whimpering. But at least it wasn't just her; he gave a moan that sounded a lot like _Natalia_ and brought his knees forward, curling her hips up. The rocking motion was intensified by the all-too perfect penetration and friction on her clit. This time she was loud, this time she cried out in a series of waves to mirror what it felt like, wishing he really _knew_ how flawless it all was.

He wanted her on top again. He rolled to his back, bringing her upright. She didn't stop, she swung her hips forward and back, still not really done her second peak but more than willing to carry it with her to the next one. It grew loud in the room; she knew she was making noises, but none of them compared to him moaning under her, sometimes her name, sometimes just noises or curse words. She was watching him, half in shadow. His hands were tight on her hips and he was pushing against the motion of her and everything felt so complete she didn't want it to end. But of course it did; he pulled her onto him fully and it was enough to send her through it hollering, almost unladylike, as he bellowed her name at the exact same time.

As they quaked and shivered she realized they'd been staring at each other the entire time, eyes locked. Now she smiled, and Tig smiled back, closing his eyes and trembling again as she untangled them and stretched out next to him on her stomach. He got up to use the washroom, and when he came back he lay next to her, on his side, putting his hand on her back.

She turned her face to him, smiling as her eyes slid closed. "You'll be the death of me, you know that?" he asked, and without opening her eyes she could hear his smile. His warm lips pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder, his beard tickling her. "But what a hell of a way to go."

"No – Jesus, _no_!"

The shout brought her awake, startled. Valerie lunged for the bedside table, turning on a lamp. Next to her, Tig was on his back, hands over his face. The blankets were thrashed about. She'd been dead asleep but that cry brought her fully awake _fast_.

She slid closer across the mattress, not sure if he was awake. He brought his hands down, chest heaving with ragged breathing. His face was wet with tears, eyes red. He blinked a few times, almost like he was trying to focus. Then his eyes fell on her.

"Tig? Honey? You okay?"

He blinked a couple more times then grimaced, covering his face again. "Shit," he muttered, sniffing and coughing.

She reached a hand out and put it on his shoulder. "Nightmare?"

He nodded.

Christ, the thought of this man having nightmares … it must have been some scary shit.

He brought his arms down with a big, shuddering breath, grabbing her and dragging her close. "Come here," he mumbled, not giving her a chance to disagree. His grip on her was tight, and she was dying to know what the nightmare had been about.

"You want to talk?"

"Nope."

Well that was easy. He hugged her tight, eventually his body relaxed and his grip eased up a bit. But not much. She let him hold her if that's what he wanted.

"I dreamed that …" he stopped to cough a bit. "I was dreaming about shooting someone. I was sent to kill Opie."

Valerie frowned. "What?"

He patted her arm. "Just wait. This was a while ago. We thought he was snitching. Clay and I decided he had to be taken out. No club vote."

"Who's Clay?"

"Our old president. Gemma's old man."

_He was no angel_. Right.

"Anyway, I was following his truck. Stop light. I took the shot from behind. I couldn't do it while looking at him. I went to pull around. And I swear to Christ Val, I'll never forget this. It wasn't Opie, it was his wife. She was looking right at me. They switched vehicles. I shot the man's fucking wife -"

She rose up on one elbow as he started weeping. "Tig."

"But that wasn't the dream. I took the shot, went to pull around the truck but it wasn't Donna. It was you. Christ, I thought I killed you -"

She leaned over and kissed his lips, cutting him off. He still wept but he clamped her head with both hands, like he needed to stare at her for just a second.

"I'm okay," she whispered. "I'm right here."

"I ruined that man's life," he whispered.

She could only wince at the pain and regret in his voice. Nothing could take it back. No wisdom she could pass down would make the whole thing just _fix _itself.

"If anything happens to you -"

She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere, Tig. I'm right here. We'll take care of each other, okay?"

His eyes were those of a drowning man. It was sure a night for revelations and sharing.

"We're too mean to die young, remember?" she said, trying to sound light.

That made him smile. "Who the hell _you_ calling young?"

That made her smile, too, and he pulled her down for a kiss. "I'm not that young either, Tig -"

"Plenty young, Doc. Believe me." Another kiss. "Although, you make certain parts of me feel downright adolescent."

She had to laugh as he rolled her onto her back, knee pushing between her thighs. "I will need some sleep at some point, you know."

He smiled down at her, still somewhat sad. "Sleep when I'm gone, babe."


	35. Chapter 35

Valerie covered a yawn as the cashier handed over her change. She smiled in appreciation and stepped out of the way to allow the next customer up to the counter, glad for the breeze trailing through the deli via the propped-open door. It was ridiculously hot, and when noon had rolled around Valerie figured she should run out and pick up a sandwich for herself and Teresa just to get out of the office for a few minutes.

She watched the people milling around sunny Main Street while she waited. She had been counting down the hours until she had a little time to herself, but Teresa had reminded her right at 10am sharp that they had a beer and wings date that night. Valerie had nearly forgotten, had been really looking forward to just a few hours after work to relax before a certain blue-eyed, leather-clad someone inevitably showed up at her house to keep her up half the night again.

Now it looked like girls' night with Teresa had to come first.

It had been thoughtful of Teresa to offer. She thought Valerie needed to get out and meet more people in the community anyway.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?"

She jumped somewhat, turning to the man who was standing at her left elbow, taking a long draw on a straw plugged into a cup mostly filled with ice and something else dark and creamy-looking. She didn't know him, so she stepped away slightly with a polite smile. "It's certainly warm," she agreed. She'd always been terrible at small talk with strangers.

"There are always ways to get out of the heat," he replied easily.

She couldn't explain how it happened. In that second exchange it registered to her that his voice had a strange lilt to it, an accent that she nearly recognized. The voice itself was still strange but now he had her attention, and she really looked at his face, directly.

The cold fell over her slowly at the exact moment his eyes met hers. There was something intrinsically mean-looking in those eyes, even though they were deep, warm and brown. He was one of those well-preserved men that you always associated with wealth and privilege; like golfing and yachting actually _held _the secret of youth. His skin was deeply tanned and smooth, his sandy hair streaked with blonde, light crows' feet at the corners of his eyes making him handsome. And yet Valerie's only instinct was to get the fuck away from him.

"Is something wrong, Valerie?"

She swallowed hard as he turned to face her directly. "I don't know you," she stated, emotionless.

He moved a bit closer, making her steel her resolve to not back away. She raised her chin to him, hoping like hell she looked tough, but when he spoke it was like a shot to the gut. "Yes you do, sweetheart. I know you quite intimately, actually."

She backed up, colliding with a woman who was carrying her iced tea to a table. The woman jumped, but polite to a fault the woman apologized to _her _and asked her if she was okay. Valerie kept her eyes on the man as he put his sunglasses on and left the deli.

"Dear, are you okay?" The woman was repeating for the third time.

Valerie blinked, coming back to herself and forcing her pulse to return to normal.

"I-I'm so sorry," she stammered, crouching to pick up the glass as a busboy arrived on the scene.

"It must be the heat," the woman mused. "Either that or you're pregnant."

"Christ, I fucking hope not," Valerie muttered automatically, and the woman gawked. "Shit. I mean, I'm sorry. I haven't eaten and … it's really hot."

The woman just walked away from her.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" The deli counter attendant was holding out a bag to her. "Your sandwiches, ma'am?"

Valerie shook her head. "Sorry. Can I buy that lady another iced tea?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll take care of that," the girl was saying. Valerie took the bag with a smile and bolted from the deli. On the sidewalk she looked both ways but she couldn't see the man anywhere. Her heartbeat was normal. The calm she felt was cold and numbing. She was pissed off.

She should have watched to see if he walked up to a vehicle. She could have tracked which way he went. Fucking stupid _panic_ overrode common sense.

She had no definitive proof that this man had been her fourth attacker. But what else could that "intimately" comment have meant?

This guy had been from money, she would bet her life on it. There was nothing about him that matched those two she saw in that cabin. But the faint trace of a Slavic accent was what triggered her in the first place. With certainty she knew those gold-ring-wearing hands holding that drink had been on her at some point of the night she'd rather forget. At least there hadn't been any cross tattoos on his fingers.

She made herself return to work under that same calm, smiling at Teresa and putting her sandwich on her desk. Her assistant smiled with gratitude as she cradled the phone on one shoulder. Good, she was distracted.

Valerie shut her office door, made for the desk and was punching in Teller-Morrow garage's number before stopping to think. With one digit left she stopped.

What could she really tell Tig? She saw a _guy _that looked like _this. _No name, no vehicle, just a suspicion. And knowing him he'd come racing over here when there was nothing he could do.

This man didn't seem like the kind to come blazing in here with guns draw and kill them all anyway. Whoever the prick was that left those heads lying around was a bit more cold and calculating, the kind that would get off on messing around with her head.

What Valerie had to do was collect her thoughts and figure out who this man was. Either he had known who she was to start with and had planned the original attack, _or _he'd figured out who she was afterwards.

There was also the chance he _didn't_ know at all who she had been in that previous life and just wanted to scare her for his own sick amusement. That scenario made little to no sense. A head had ended up at Teller-Morrow, meaning they were aware of the gang's affiliation with her and what had happened to those three dead men. No matter where this guy come from, that was a bold declaration unless he had some super scary back-up on its way. Or he was just incredibly stupid.

If the attack had come from someone figuring out what had actually happened to Natalia Boyd, there was no reason to drag the Sons into it at all. They could just come at her because they were likely connected or working for people who were. Why involve the garage at all?

Second scenario seemed most logical. She was attacked, someone somehow figured out who she was. But that still didn't answer the big question; why the hell was she singled out in the first place?

Valerie really had trouble believing four men randomly broke into her home, took nothing, did what they did and left. It was more like they were following instructions. Not a single _thing_ had been taken, which had the markings of someone very smart overseeing what they did. Not only smart, but scary enough that those two bastards wouldn't give up a name or _anything, _even when their lives were hanging in the balance.

More confused than ever, she hung up the phone when the annoying _make your call already_ buzzing started in the handset. Tig would be pissed that she hadn't let him know right away, but she wasn't sure if "taken" status meant she could drag him away from what the club had going on if there was nothing he could do to help her. He'd get over it, she was sure. And she didn't want to get in the habit of using him as a guard dog, either.

Valerie eyed her sandwich, surprised when her stomach growled. She hadn't had breakfast. She'd slept in and rushed to be ready for work as it was, Tig finding it hilarious of course. The bastard just had to roll out of bed and he was ready for the day.

She covered her smile with her hand. Just that one thought and the dude from the deli was banished to the back of her head. She had a therapist moment of wondering if she was mistaking the feeling of security Tig gave her with sexual confidence and comfort. Then she wondered if it was one and the same. _Then _she wondered why she questioned things that were clearly making her happy.

The door opened and she looked up to see Teresa, holding her sandwich in one hand. "Are you okay?" The blonde asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You were a little pale when you came in."

Valerie shook her head, reaching for the chicken ranch sandwich. "Nah, I'm fine. It's really hot out there."

Teresa sat at her desk across from her, unwrapping her lunch as well. "Thank you for this," she said happily. "I'll buy you a couple rounds tonight."

Valerie had to laugh. "I'm a lightweight with booze. A _couple _rounds and I'll be under the table."

"I'll make sure your good name stays intact," Teresa promised with all seriousness.

"Thank you, Teresa. I appreciate that."

There was a pause while they chewed then Teresa really surprised her. "So, who was that guy that was here with that Morrow woman the other day?"

Valerie frowned, taking a sip of water. "Juice?"

"Is that really his name?"

Valerie exhaled. "I don't know his real name, actually. I was never told it. But I'd assume it's not his given name."

Teresa just shrugged and kept chewing, avoiding her look.

It made Valerie appraise her in a new light. "Why, Teresa? Why would you be curious about his name?"

She shrugged again, taking a bite and chewing, not looking at her.

Valerie laughed, shaking her head. "Teresa, you are so busted."

Teresa just shrugged a third time. "You have your bad boy fantasies, I'll have mine."

That baby-faced biker likely _was _as bad boy as Teresa could tolerate. Although, being a patched member clearly made him no boy scout either.

Valerie very nearly told Teresa that there was no fantasy involved in it, but she stopped herself. She didn't want Teresa to know about her and Tig. Not yet.

She should have just told her.


	36. Chapter 36

Teresa and Valerie headed out right after work to a cheerful, TGI-Friday's type rip off. They settled in to a booth, ordered beers and then perused the menu while chatting about nothing particular. With cold pints sweating in the air-conditioned comfort of the pub Valerie momentarily felt like she was on another planet.

This was so normal. This was what people _did_.

Teresa was facing the door, and when she suddenly started waving Valerie had to turn around to see who she was gesturing to. As soon as she caught sight of the two men in the doorway returning Teresa's greeting her heart sank.

_Oh no._

She looked back to Teresa, knowing her face must have been incredulous.

Teresa at least had the sense to look apologetic. "I'm sorry," she began. "I've seen Ethan a few times now. He's really nice. And Nathan is the older brother of one of my best friends. He's _so_ nice, Valerie. And look how cute he is. I mean, I thought a double-date, unassuming like this, might be fun."

This really didn't seem like the kind of place any member of the Sons of Anarchy would visit. But Valerie felt her head almost implode when the two men reached their table.

Teresa bound to her feet, letting the blonde, tanned, clean-cut Gap model kiss her cheek. Yes, the _other _one was apparently for _her_.

The one called Nathan smiled down at her with a blinding white smile, offering his hand. "Hi, I'm Nathan. I'm a friend of Teresa's."

_Jesus Christ. _This was so uncomfortable.

Valerie's manners made her smile, taking his hand. "Hi, I'm Valerie."

He nodded, sliding into the booth next to her. She had to make room, and now she was penned in against the wall. His cologne was at a decent level, not too overwhelming, but still miles away from what she'd been getting used to.

Why couldn't men just smell like _men_ anymore?

"So, you're a therapist?" he began.

Valerie nodded, reaching for her beer. "I am, yes."

"That sounds interesting."

"It sure can be," she agreed, noting how Teresa was beaming at her from across the table. She took a big swig of her beer. "What do you do, Nathan?"

"I'm a mortgage appraiser at a bank," he said, clearly not liking having to answer that particular question in that way.

"I see," she replied, unsure of where to go next.

"He's not that square," Teresa offered, making Nathan laugh. "Valerie, he even rides a motorcycle."

Well at least they could maybe talk about _that_. "What do you ride?" She asked, finally feeling comfortable with a question.

"I've got a Suzuki GSX."

Her disappointment couldn't be kept at bay. "Oh."

He gave a disenchanted laugh. "Why? What's wrong with that?"

Valerie felt like shit. "Nothing. Sorry. I was raised by a Harley guy and those little crotch-rocket things are just -"

He cut her off. "Hey, I've passed Harleys on the highway." Well, at least he was spunky. He challenged her further. "Why? What are you riding, Doc?"

Valerie bristled when he called her Doc. She couldn't help it. "Look, I'm just a proponent of good old American-made bikes that don't look like spaceships."

He shook his head. "Still haven't told me what you ride."

"I have a 1973 Harley Davidson Sportster. It was my dad's." She raised an eyebrow. "Your serve. Go ahead. Pick on my dad's bike."

He looked across the table at the other two. Teresa thought she'd lost her mind. Her man Ethan apparently thought this was entertaining.

Nathan laughed, too. "I can't compete with a bike belonging to a father," he conceded. Then he looked back to her. "What size is that engine?"

"998 CCs."

"With those 45-angle V-twins?"

"Of course."

He nodded, knocking on the table. "Well, all hail American-made bikes."

At least he was smart. Then he added, "We should ride some time."

_No fucking chanc_e. Out loud she said, "We'll see."

He just smiled. Teresa was giving her _What the hell_ looks but Valerie ignored her, reaching for her beer glass again and wondering what a "polite" amount of time was to stay before feigning a stomach flu.

The food came, it was eaten. Valerie tried to be as personable as she could but the small talk thing just didn't come naturally to her. Nathan was normal and adorable and a year ago she likely would have been over the moon to spend time with him. He was courteous and even, admittedly, somewhat interesting.

Or, he would have been. _Before_.

At one point of the evening when Valerie was getting ready to beg for an exit, Teresa caught the arrival of people in the doorway and exhaled, uttering a low "Oh no," before shooting a worried glance at Ethan.

No one was ignoring that; the three of them followed her gaze, and Valerie felt ready to melt through the floor.

Because her life had been lacking drama for over eight hours now, Valerie recognized the three, four, make it _five_ men that entered the bar. All in black leather vests with reaper patches on the back. The fifth man was someone she was getting to know _very _well.

She thought _Fuck_, and hoped she hadn't said it out loud. She turned back, facing forward and exhaling. Teresa gave her a wide-eyed look. "I'm sorry. They _never _come here, I was sure of it."

Valerie shrugged. "It's fine," she remarked, trying to sound casual. "Why would it bother me?"

"Should we go?" Nathan offered, obviously confused and having no idea what was going on. His buddy Ethan didn't seem nearly confused enough for Valerie's liking.

"We should go," Ethan suggested, hand on Teresa's back, worried about her.

_She fucking didn't_, Valerie was thinking. If Teresa had been telling people outright that Tig had been coming to her office –

Nathan piped up with "We can go," risking a glance at Valerie, his expression asking _someone_ to let him in on the story.

"We should," Teresa said softly, getting to her feet. The attention of the pub was not on _them_, of course. It was focused solely on the scary biker guys making their way to the bar in the centre of the room to talk to the bartender. Of course they moved like they could give a shit that anyone was watching. But one set of blue eyes was clearly in the habit of constantly scanning a room.

Shit.

They were standing. Nathan was helping her out of the booth, and Valerie felt it the second Tig saw her. She met the look, giving just a small head shake, but that didn't matter. She knew he'd be pissed, and she was right.

She pulled away from Nathan's grip on her arm as nicely as she could. He didn't seem to think it odd. Teresa was saying something, but Valerie couldn't think, couldn't listen, and couldn't look away from Tig's face. His jaw was set hard enough to break teeth but it was his eyes giving her a bad feeling.

"Valerie? Did you want to join us at my place?" Teresa was asking.

She shook her head to bring herself back. "No, I think I should just head home."

Teresa nodded as though she understood. Ethan shook her hand, saying it was nice to meet her. Nathan made like he was going to hug her, and her reaction of stepping back and stopping him with both hands was purely instinctive and had nothing to do with the audience she had across the room. Her heart leapt a bit and she honestly felt a little flush of irrational fear.

Nathan dropped his arms, alarm on his face. "Sorry. It was nice to meet you Valerie."

She let him shake her hand. That seemed okay. They turned to leave, and one look back at Tig told her she wasn't going anywhere without explaining this. "You guys go ahead. I need to use the restroom. And thanks again for this. It was nice."

Teresa looked concerned again, casting a look across the room. The Sons were in conversation with some other man, but Tig was still staring at her. "Are you sure? I can wait if you want." Teresa seemed scared about the attention they were receiving.

Valerie couldn't blame her. The look on his face was terrifying, but Valerie still wasn't fearful. She just really felt she owed him an explanation.

"It's okay, Teresa," she assured her. "It's a public place. I'll be fine."

Teresa didn't believe her, but after a moment of eye contact where Valerie was staining with all her mental capacity to convince her it was okay to leave, she finally nodded. "Okay. Well, have a good weekend. I'll see you on Monday."

Valerie nodded, knowing her relief was probably very obvious. "You too, Teresa. Thanks. And it was nice to meet you, Ethan and Nathan." There. She filed Nathan away in the same category as Ethan. No special treatment.

They were off with a wave, and Valerie debated what the best course of action would be for this. Clearly he wouldn't talk to her in the middle of a crowded bar.

She made for the washroom, which was down a long hallway to the side of the bar, apart from the main room. When Valerie heard loud footfalls she knew who it was, and she stopped, turning to wait for him to catch up.

The look on his face made her actually feel guilty. Before he could say anything she was talking. "Teresa wanted to go for beers after work. I didn't know she'd invited anyone else. I thought it would be just us."

His eyes were cold. She rethought the whole _not being scared of him_ thing.

"Not out here," he murmured. He pushed the woman's room door open, pulling her through by the arm.

"Tig, let me go."

He did, when she was inside. Ignoring her, he walked down the aisle of stalls, asking loudly, "Anyone in here?"

There was no answer.

"Tig, did you hear me?"

He locked the bathroom door. She swallowed hard.

He turned on her, hands on hips. "I believe you," he said, voice quite cold. "But it puts me in a bad place when the guys see you out with someone. You get that, right?"

"Of course," she said, meeting his gaze, doing her best to instill confidence. "Teresa doesn't know, Tig. She just wanted me to be comfortable meeting people. She doesn't know … about us."

"Like I said, I believe you."

More stare-down. Christ, she never wanted to see him truly furious with her.

"I'll tell her about us on Monday," she promised. "You don't need to worry about Teresa saying anything to anyone. She's terrified of you."

"You look scared of me right now."

She nodded. "I am. But I'm mostly worried I've … I don't know. Hurt you in some way. I _swear _I thought I was having beer with Teresa, just the girls."

It might have made her more comfortable if he _was _shouting at her. This cold stare was freaking her out.

Finally he dropped his eyes down. "Well, the guys saw you. They know I'm in here. I've got to set you right, Val."

She gulped, then he came at her.


	37. Chapter 37

**I love how enthused you all are. It makes this a more interactive experience. :)**

* * *

Her body didn't prepare to defend itself, she just felt confused that Tig might hurt her. But the thought didn't last.

He grabbed her, yes. But before she had a moment to choose between worrying or fighting back he was kissing her, incredibly rough and dominant. Her body was conditioned to kissing him, and its instant reaction was to melt and return the kiss. Her brain went away. Her body lit off with heat and want.

Valerie had always tried to be an independent and self-sufficient woman, but his urge to mark her as territory was incredibly arousing. When Tig's hands unfastened her linen trousers and they fell to the tile floor, she was already wet. When he backed her to the corner created by the partitions and the sink counter she was whispering things along the lines of "Please, yes" and "I'm sorry." She undid his belt, unzipped his fly, and his erection was in her hands before she realized she'd done all that.

His guttural groan thrilled her. When the condom was produced from some hidden pocket Valerie made a decidedly _happy _sound_, _pushing her underwear down around her ankles and stepping out of them.

He caught one leg behind her knee, bringing it to his waist. Crushing his lips to hers again he lowered himself, then shoved upwards with his hips, taking her with him and joining them together almost angrily. She cried out, grasping the edge of his kutte tight enough to bend her fingernails back. She didn't feel it.

The motion raised her off her one foot, and she brought it up to balance her weight between his hand holding her leg aloft and the counter on her left. With more room to work with his pace increased, making her cry out, eyes squeezed shut tightly, holding on for all she was worth.

She was close. So perfectly close she parted their mouths to lean her head back and wait for the release, staring at those eyes, no longer dead with anger but bright with passion. When he stopped moving, her whole body was pissed off. She made a sound of annoyance, and he had the gall to smile at her.

"Only me," he reminded her.

Bastard.

She held his face in both hands. "Only you, Tig. I swear it, baby," she promised on a gasp.

His smile widened, and he gave her what she wanted, took what he needed, and even though Valerie was painfully aware they were in a public washroom she couldn't be quiet. She came while crying out, biting her lip to stifle it but it was an unsuccessful effort. He followed her immediately. It was fast, rough, but wonderfully intense.

Valerie redressed while he cleaned up, neither of them saying another word. It was when Tig was doing his belt up she remembered the run-in with the man that afternoon.

"I ran into a strange man today," she began, interrupted by a knock at the door.

They looked at each other like they were totally busted. He didn't seem particularly worried. She was mortified that someone knew what was going on.

"Tig, we're done. Let's go," came a familiar voice with a Scottish accent.

She covered her face with both hands. "Oh my God -"

"It's fine," he said, taking her hands and pulling away. He was far too amused with her. "Tell me about this strange man."

"He started talking to me at that deli on Main. Just about the weather. Then he called me by my name. And when I said that I didn't know him, he informed me that he knew _me _quite intimately."

Tig's face went cold and deadly all at once. "Did you see what he was driving? Where he went?"

She shook her head. "I-I was so flustered I lost track of him."

"You think that's the missing guy?"

She nodded slowly, _willing _the tears to stay away. "I _know _it was, Tig. I just knew by his voice and how he looked at me."

The knock came again with a much louder, "Tig!"

"All right," he snapped back, loud and irate. Then his face softened somewhat, coming back to hers. "You okay?"

The change in tone relaxed her, made her smile at him. "I'm _great _now," she said, making him grin and kiss her again.

"Come on," he said, taking her by the hand.

"I'm … I'm embarrassed," she admitted as he pulled her to the door.

"About what?" he asked, far too innocent for the self-satisfied look on his face as he opened the door.

Valerie had a strange surge of relief that Chibbs was standing there alone. "Deal's set," the Scot said, not looking at her. "Ready to go."

"Good," Tig said in his regular detached manner. He held her hand as he walked down the hall next to her, letting go just as they hit the bar. No one was staring any more, but she was incredibly aware of unrest in the room. It would be gone once Chibbs and Tig had left, she was sure.

Tig walked her to her car, planting a kiss on her forehead before opening the door for her. "Go straight home, lock up tight. I'll follow to make sure you get there, call fro someone to sit outside. I'll be by as soon as I can be."

She nodded. "I'll just make sure I've got the Makarov with me at all times."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'll knock, then." It made her smile, and he kissed her again. "You're a scary broad, Val."

She was hot and sweaty by the time she got home, dying to be free of her work clothes. She got a glass of wine first, the pistol the police _hadn't _confiscated second, and then ran herself a luke-warm and oil-infused bath while stripping down next to the tub. She wanted to smell nice for Tig, although if she didn't she doubted it would matter much.

While in the water her phone rang. She'd brought it to the washroom with her, and she snagged it off the floor on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Val? It's Teresa."

Great. "Hi Teresa."

"I just wanted to make sure you were … okay with what I did. Inviting Nathan along. I know it's soon but I thought you two would hit it off and he's so nice -"

"It was a nice thought, Teresa. It really was. I'm just not – I don't know. I'm not interested."

"Why not? He's nice, employed, handsome -"

Wine and beer had gone to her head just a little, so she just blurted it out. "I'm seeing someone, Teresa. And I didn't tell you because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

There was a pause. "You're _seeing _someone? And I didn't know? For how long? Since _before _the -" Valerie heard the suspicion in her voice, even without seeing her face. "Valerie. You don't mean … you _can't _be seeing that Trager."

She just closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Valerie, that's just … he's … he's dangerous. And with what happened how can …" Teresa sighed. "I don't know, Valerie."

Valerie was waiting for Teresa to tell her she would have to quit, but the little blonde shocked the shit out of her instead. "Well, I guess he'll keep you safe as much as he can. I still think it's asking for more trouble than help but … I guess I understand." Then Teresa gasped. "Oh God. Did I get you in trouble because of Nathan?"

Valerie had to laugh. "Don't worry, Teresa. You didn't know, I told him what happened. I've already made it up to him."

"Oh. That's good. I mean … _oh_." Teresa seemed to catch her drift.

"But Teresa?"

"Yeah?"

"You can't tell people he was at the office for treatment."

"I haven't -"

"I think you told Ethan," she interrupted. "He better be able to keep his mouth shut. And no one else, Teresa. We can't tell people _anyone _goes there; _every_ patient has to know it's confidential."

"I'm sorry, I know."

"And you especially have to deny any knowledge of what the Sons of Anarchy does. It's as much for your protection as anyone else's."

"I know. I'm sorry Val."

She settled back into her bath water. "Don't let it happen again. When asked, we're covered by the fact that all our work is subject to strict confidentiality. And that's a perfectly legitimate, above-board answer."

"I know. You're right. It will never happen again."

"And Ethan _has _to understand. Because it's not just the Sons that might hear about a leak like that."

Teresa exhaled loudly. "Christ, Valerie. You sound like you're a pro at all this."

She closed her eyes. "Can you please just promise me that you'll keep it zipped from now on?"

"I promise. And I'm sorry." Then her voice got small. "You're not going to tell _him _about this, are you?"

Valerie laughed. "No, Teresa. I've got your back on that. Don't worry."

"Thank you Val, thank you, thank you -"

"I'm hanging up now. Go do unmentionable things with Ethan."

"Valerie!"

She hung up on Teresa, chuckling to herself.


	38. Chapter 38

Valerie couldn't bring herself to sleep. She tossed and turned all night, insanely jealous of how Tig could be completely passed out next to her while she couldn't shut her brain off for a single minute.

It was the guy at the deli. She had a handgun to her left, a man who would maim and kill with bare hands for her to the right, but when she thought about those brown eyes and cold smile she was absolutely terrified.

He didn't have the Popov tattoo on his fingers. It didn't mean he didn't know them, however. And if that family knew where she was now …

Morning came very early, just as she was finally dozing off. Hands were groping her ass, a gravelling voice mumbling "Breakfast?"

She had to laugh, even half-asleep. "What do you want for breakfast?"

The answer was given as she was rolled on to her back while Tig shoved his hand between her legs and kissed her. She felt guilty at the thought, but for his age his libido was ridiculous.

"You had that for supper," she reminded him. "And then two more servings after that."

He was smiling as he kissed her, hands roving over her lazy and unrushed. "I could live on you," he muttered, kisses tickling her neck and collarbone.

Yes, she was incredibly tired. But at least this had the power to take her mind off her worries for however long.

"Go slow," she begged. "Take your time."

Thankfully, he always did as asked. Two hours later they were in her kitchen, having showered separately to conserve water. Hand to God, he was making eggs.

"You know what you're doing, right?" she asked, perched on a stool at the island.

"I do," he answered easily. She was drinking coffee, watching with amusement while he hunted around the kitchen to find what he needed, not asking for directions. Her house phone rang, and she grabbed the cordless next to her while watching him crack eggs into the pan.

"Stove's not on," she remarked, prompting a loud curse just as she pressed _talk_. "Hello?"

"Tig there?" The voice was abrupt, male, and she had the impression it was the club president, Jax.

"Yeah. Just a sec," she held the phone out to him. He took it with a frown.

"Yeah?" she watched his face as he watched the eggs, eyebrows reacting to whatever Jax was saying. "It probably died last night. Why? What's up?"

She kept drinking her coffee, letting her eyes wander to the patio door and the gray day outside. It was hard to pretend like the phone call was none of her business when he was standing in her kitchen.

"Shit, man. What the fuck? Do we know who did it?" Pause. "Nah, I came right over once we were done last night." A beat. "Yeah, I'll ask her. We'll be over after we eat."

He hung up the phone and handed it to her. "Someone broke out all the windows of Gemma's SUV last night. Might be random."

"Where was she?"

"At her house. Jax thinks this guy you saw yesterday might actually just have it in for the Sons, sees you as a soft mark."

Valerie nodded. "I guess so. He just seemed so … sinister. And the accent -"

Now Tig was frowning. "What accent?"

She frowned. "I didn't tell you? He sounded Russian. Or Ukrainian."

"No, you didn't tell me that."

"It was faint, but it was there. I could have sworn I mentioned it."

He looked incredibly serious all of a sudden and maybe a bit annoyed she'd missed sharing that detail. "Shit, Val, if these guys are linked to those fuckers that killed your family -"

"I know," she shook her head in agreement. "I keep hoping that someone just wanted me to _think _they were related, just to scare me that extra bit to keep me in line or something. But from _what_?"

Something crossed his face, fleeting but she saw it all the same. "What is it?" she asked, putting her coffee down. "What was that?"

"What?"

"You just had a thought."

"When I have a _thought _it shows?"

"Yes. What was it?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Pretending to be linked to the Russian mob just to scare you … it makes no sense."

"I know."

"But I'm hoping like hell they aren't _really _on to you, too," he muttered, flipping the eggs. She wasn't satisfied with that answer but it was likely the best one she was going to get.

Someone knocked on her door. They both swung heads around in unison. "You usually have Saturday morning company?" he asked.

"No," she replied, getting to her feet.

"Stay there," he commanded, taking the pan off the stove. He reached for his kutte on the island, lifting it to pull out the Ruger underneath. His face was eerily calm as he left the kitchen.

Valerie waited, skin prickling, ears straining. After a pause the door opened. Tig's happy-go-lucky voice, which always seemed to sound insulting, came wafting back to her. "How nice. A Saturday visit."

Valerie headed for the door, peeking around Tig to see who was on her stoop. It was the sheriff, and she took a moment to look surprised. "Sheriff Roosevelt?"

He smiled pleasantly enough at her, and had the grace not to look shocked that Alex Trager was answering her door. "Miss Turner. May I come in? I have some news for you."

She looked at Tig. He shrugged. "Your house, babe."

"Come in, Sheriff. Can I get you a coffee?"

"No, that'll be fine. I won't take up too much of your Saturday."

She led him into the living room. Tig didn't sit, opting to stand next to the front door, leaning on the jamb as though anticipating the Sheriff would be leaving soon. The gun was gone, likely under his shirt. She sat on the sofa, Sheriff Roosevelt on the arm chair.

"I'm sure you've heard of the bodies that were found in that burnt-out cabin just over the county line in Solano."

She nodded. "I did. That sounded pretty odd. No heads?" She shuddered. He was watching her closely, then he looked to Tig.

Tig was staring out the front window now, squinting into the sunlight, opting out of their conversation apparently.

"Yeah, that detail was accidentally leaked. A recruit got a little excited. Iw ould have rather kept that under wraps. Why I'm here, however, is more closely related to _you_. We ran DNA tests to ID the bodies against criminal records, and one of the men came back as a match to the DNA we took from under your fingernails after your attack."

Valerie was a shitty actress, truth be told. She could feel Tig's eyes hit her, but she refused to look at him, instead opting to seem as though she didn't understand. Luckily she'd forgotten about the blood and skin under her nails so it _did _sort of goose her memory a bit, and when she blurted out "What?" it sounded legitimate enough.

"One of the men in that cabin matched DNA from your attack."

She sat back in the sofa. "So … one of them is dead then." She did her best to look conflicted.

"The DNA from the other two bodies was inconclusive. But one _was_ a positive match. He was one of the headless corpses. Thought you'd like to know that detail."

The Sheriff's eyes were smart, boring a hole through her eye sockets. They flicked over to Tig, but he was still pulling the stoic and silent routine.

"I don't suppose you know anything about that cabin or the three bodies we found?"

She frowned. "No."

He looked back to her. "I was actually asking Mr. Trager."

"Oh."

Tig looked at the Sheriff now, sniffing. "Nah. Don't like Solano much."

Sheriff Roosevelt looked at her again. "Well then. Thanks for your time. I thought you'd want to know."

She got to her feet when he did. "I appreciate it, thanks. I hope you can find the other three now. Assuming that those other two weren't …" she let it trail off and he nodded.

"Enjoy the rest of your Saturday. Mr. Trager, a pleasure as always."

"Oh, you too, Sheriff." Tig let him out, shutting the door and watching out the glass as the man returned to his car.

Once he had pulled out of her driveway they shared a look. Valerie was waiting for words of wisdom or advice on what to do in case the cops came back when he wasn't around. There was nothing, so _she _spoke.

"Whose cabin was that?"

"What?"

"The cabin in Solano. Whose was it?"

"A rental. The guy that runs the gas station nearby told us about these Ukrainians that were hanging around, buys a few things at a time like they were _waiting _to move on somewhere else. We checked it out."

"And that gas station guy? Who's he?"

"A friend of the club. He ain't saying anything to anyone."

"You're sure?"

Instead of answering Tig just took her hand. "Still hungry? Those were some pretty good-looking eggs I had going there."

She laughed and let him pull her back into the kitchen.


	39. Chapter 39

Valerie rode on the back of Tig's bike to Teller-Morrow after they finished breakfast. He wasn't leaving her alone with that stranger unaccounted for, and she felt safer surrounded by armed men anyway. At the lot Jax met them immediately and asked her a lot of questions about the guy she'd run into at the deli. No time to waste, clearly.

Tig held her hand while she talked. She described him best she could. Tried to explain what he'd been wearing as well, although she admitted nothing stuck with her more than his face and the cold, creepy look he had. And of course, the accent. She reiterated quite emphatically that this _had _to be the fourth guy, she just knew it.

Jax was shaking his head. "Fuck, we really don't need this right now."

Valerie felt horrible. He clearly was concerned, even if it wasn't entirely for her. This club obviously meant a lot to him. Anyone throwing a head basically on the club's doorstep was sending a not-friendly message. Plus the fact that his wife was apparently still in jail …

"I'm sorry," she said stupidly, bringing his blue eyes up to her.

Jax shook his head, giving a smile. "What are you apologizing for? A friend of the club's a friend of the club. We'll make sure you're all right."

He left them standing next to Tig's bike. Tig held her by the shoulders. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. But I mean, if he was at Gemma's house, she's there alone, right?"

Tig smiled. "Maybe some nights. Don't worry about that. We can watch out for Gemma, always have. I just wish I could lock you up here when I'm not around."

She smiled back. "You have two days to find him," she reminded him. He pressed a kiss to her lips.

"And I'll find him for you, babe. I promise. Go hang out with Gemma while I'm gone. She's probably in the office. Don't leave the lot without someone with you. Okay?"

"Can you tell me where you're going today?" she asked, voice sounding awfully whiny.

"Nah. But don't worry about me, okay?" She covered a yawn and his voice got all low and sexy on her. "What? Are you not sleeping well lately?"

Valerie just looked away, shaking her head and poorly hiding a smile.

"Get some rest. But remember - not in my room. Hell, use Juice's dorm. I still don't think he's had sex yet." He suddenly hollered across the parking lot. "Right Juice?"

She squinted across the lot. The kid was next to a bike, looking up, shaking his head. "What?"

"It's okay, Juice. Puberty will hit eventually."

Valerie put her arms around his shoulders, distracting him back to _her_ for these last few minutes before he had to leave. They shared some intense eye contact, and he was serious again. "I'm going to find him. That's what we're doing today. Okay? People that dress that nice and act like that stand out. So we're going to ask questions. Find the fucker and flush him out. Especially now that he's brought it to Gemma's doorstep. And I'll bring him back to you. Broken and bloody. Probably. Definitely."

She was officially deranged, because hearing all of that was turning her on. "Bring him back that quickly and you can kill him, Tig. But I want to see it."

He was surprised, but his smile came eventually. "There's a _lot _that's wrong with you, Val."

"I know."

This kiss bordered on being inappropriate for public places but she didn't really care. Eventually she had to let him go to join the guys in the chapel for a meeting before they headed out.

Valerie did as instructed and went searching for Gemma, finding her in the office sorting through folders and invoices. She knocked on the open door, and Gemma looked up and offered a wry smile.

"So you've been called into the fort for protection too?" she asked.

Valerie smiled. "I have. Sorry to hear about your windows."

Gemma shrugged. "It's glass. No one got hurt. I was lucky, right?" They shared a knowing look.

"Yeah, well he's down three friends so his courage is probably lacking a bit."

"Probably. I just wish the little worm would come out of hiding." Gemma took off her reading glasses. "I hate being cooped up like this, too. That's really making me cranky."

Valerie shook her head. "And it's all my fault, Gemma. I'm so sorry."

Gemma gave her a look that basically said _shut up_. "It's still very possible that what happened to you was a random act of violence. You don't know that past ghosts are rattling chains."

"It would be a hell of a coincidence, though."

Gemma just raised her eyebrows. "You know what we should do today?"

"What?"

"We should just get drunk."

Valerie laughed. "God, the way I feel right now getting drunk would just lead to about eleven hours of napping."

"Yeah, I should have warned you about that dirty old pervert beforehand. But by the way Val, you're good for him. Tig's actually _happy_, which is sort of terrifying for the rest of us."

Valerie just shrugged, actually blushing.

"And I like you, too. Which is almost as important."

Valerie nodded. "Oh, I know _that_."

Gemma tilted her head. "What's that supposed to mean?" Valerie had to laugh, which set Gemma off, too. "Bitch," Gemma muttered, putting her glasses back on.

"Is there _anything _I can do around here to help?" Valerie asked. "I mean, I _will _fall asleep if I don't have something to do."

"Sleep," Gemma instructed. "I mean it. I'm not going to put you to _work_."

Valerie sighed. "Okay. I'm going to sleep. Wake me if anything interesting happens?"

"Of course."

She left the office, meandering across the pavement. She noticed Chibs sitting on a patio table outside the clubhouse, smoking a cigarette. He was watching her and waved when she saw him.

She gave a wave back, approaching him, arms crossed.

"They're not locking you up here with Gemma all day, are they?"

Valerie smiled. "I'm sure she'd love to hear it put that way."

He just smiled, unworried.

"You're not in this meeting?"

He shrugged. "I just got back from a pick-up. I'm going to bed."

"Picking up what?"

He gave her a bemused grin. "I did a Costco run, dear. Next time I'll ask if you need anything."

She shook her head, sitting next to him. "Everyone's a comedian around here."

"How are you holding up, Doctor Turner?" Chibs asked, taking off his sunglasses.

"I'm … I feel fine."

He gave her a long look before nodding. "That was quite the display of steel nerves and resolve the other night."

"I'm not a shrinking violet," she answered. "I was mad enough to do it, and it's squared off, compartmentalized away. I'm sleeping fine at night."

"Well that's good. When you shot that guy right in gonads I think my life flashed before my eyes."

"Sorry."

His shrug was unaffected. "It was impressive."

The clubhouse door opened, male voices spilling out ahead of the Sons themselves. She watched Tig over her shoulder, noting the look on his face when he saw her sitting next to Chibs. But he didn't make a big deal of it, other than taking her by the hand and pulling her up to stand next to him.

"Relax Tiggy," Chibs remarked. "Just keeping her company."

"Yeah. I bet," Tig kissed her head, arm tight around the back of her neck.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, noting the faces of the men around them as they were moving en masse to the bikes. They all looked pretty damn determined.

"Yeah. There's just … a lot of different stuff going on. But don't worry."

"Gemma plans to get me drunk today," she informed him.

"Well that'll be something to do at least." Tig pointed a finger at Chibs. "Make sure she's safe."

"Of course, brother."

He gave her an incredibly tight squeeze before heading for his bike. As he walked away she had the nagging feeling there were _many _other things in the works that were likely worse than her own little drama. Valerie felt supreme guilt to be adding her shit on top of a growing pile for people that didn't owe her anything.

The sky was still cloudy and looked to be getting darker. Not a good feeling.

Chibs jogged her shoulder. "You look like you need to sleep. Head to bed, love. Don't worry about him."

She had to laugh. "Are you a mind reader?"

Chibs nodded. "Among other things. Now go to bed before you fall asleep and I have to carry you."


	40. Chapter 40

Valerie was jolted awake by strange sounds, sudden popping noises that seemed familiar, but she wasn't sure she'd heard them this many times in such quick succession before.

Gunshots. Automatic weapons. Outside.

Still half-asleep she was able to flop to the floor next to Tig's pull-out bed, rubbing her eyes and trying to organize what was going on.

The shots weren't hitting this building, she realized. They were slightly further away, but she wasn't really interested in moving.

A beat followed, then the sound of tires squealing away. The door to Tig's room swung open violently, and she jumped. "Christ, Chibs," she whispered.

"Sorry, I'll knock next time. You okay?"

She nodded and the Scot was off again. She got to her feet, easing her way down the hallway and to the clubhouse proper. A few Sons were there, but not as many as had left earlier that day. "What's going on?" she asked Juice, the only one she recognized.

He shrugged. "Stupidity, mostly. We had a little problem with another gang, but don't worry. It'll be taken care of."

She stared at the amazing confidence in that young face and wondered where the hell it could possibly be coming from. "Who is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Really Val, don't worry. It's all a redemption thing. Kind of for Opie, kind of just other shit that came up after."

"Oh." She watched the handful of Sons who _were _left at the clubhouse leave as a group, and she was suddenly all on her own in the big, cavernous room. She moved past the pool tables and bar and out into the lot. The air was muggy, the weather wasn't letting up. Gemma was smoking a cigarette at a patio table, the big kid named Phil standing under the overhang, too.

They were both staring at the gates, which stood open.

"Gemma, what the hell's going on?"

Gemma offered her a small smile. "We got shot at, honey."

She nodded, sinking to the bench next to her. "I got _that _part."

"One of the guys that killed Opie was the cousin of the Grim Bastard's president. Jax got to _him_. I guess they think right now's a good time to show their displeasure."

"Are things really that bad?"

Gemma gave her a look. "You don't even want to know."

"Well, who are the bad guys? Just so I can identify who might be shooting at me on any given day."

Gemma exhaled smoke. "Other than the Grim Bastards? Watch out for IRA. One-Niners. Anyone in nice clothes and big cars, they could be Pope's people. Oh, and there's always the possibility of Mexican drug dealers."

Valerie's head hurt. "Fuck. I _didn't _want to know."

"Not to mention the Russian mob," Gemma added wryly, "but personally I still think that's a long shot."

"Who the hell is that?" Phil asked, and both women looked back to him, then at what had his attention.

At the gates, right in the centre of the opening, stood a man all on his own. Not a weird sight, but he was on the sidewalk staring into the lot, right at them.

"What the -" Valerie cut Gemma off.

"Fuck," she muttered. "It's _him_." The guy from the deli, seeming awfully pleased with himself. She wondered if he was actually smart enough to ask people to shoot up a compound as a distraction, then show up once the fort was mostly empty. It sure as shit seemed that way.

Gemma shot her a look of surprise, then turned to Phil. "Got a gun?"

Phil nodded, reaching into the back of his waistband. "Yeah."

Gemma grabbed it once he had it free, got to her feet and started walking towards the man. Valerie was so surprised to see the man she stayed where she was for a moment, then she too stood and followed in Gemma's wake.

"Wait," Phil was saying. "Just, wait for me. Don't … ah shit."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Gemma snapped, stopping just inside the gates on Teller-Morrow property.

"I came to see the place. It's very nice." That voice brought goose bumps to Valerie's bare arms.

"I suggest you turn around and leave," Gemma said, not having any of his shit.

But his beady, brown eyes were locked on Valerie. "Hi Valerie. No wait, that's not it, is it?"

Her stomach was a block of ice. "What do you want anyway? Who are you?"

He tilted his head with a smile. "There are people who've been looking for you for a long time. They want to give me a lot of money to deliver you to them."

"Tell them I'm not available for appearances," she suggested.

"I don't think your acquiescence is required." Shit, he even sounded smart.

"How the hell are you planning on getting her to them?" Gemma spat out. "She's pretty tough and your three friends aren't around to help you anymore."

Now he turned his eyes on Gemma. "I think you're going to let her leave."

Gemma gave an incredulous snort. "You're out of your mind."

"Am I?" He turned to Valerie. "Maybe you should ask your good friend how those men ended up at your house. Why one of them was asked to give you a good fright one night. Sure, we took it further than was required but," his eyes flicked back to Gemma, "it worked better than expected."

The world stopped. Valerie stared at Gemma, anticipating a sign that Gemma thought the suggestion was insane.

She got none. When the woman turned her eyes on Valerie there was shocking regret and the look of the totally busted.

She backed up. "Gemma?"

"I asked one guy to rattle your door knobs one night, just to bring you back to us," Gemma said desperately, eyes wide and pleading. "I swear to God I had no idea what they were going to do."

Valerie's hands and feet were numb. She couldn't hear anything but her own heaving breath, eyes locked on Gemma's, waiting for a big _Just kidding_ or some further denial. But it was too late. She'd admitted it.

Her brain shuffled through remembrances of Gemma holding her after the attack, pressing a cold cloth to her neck as she'd heaved and wept and panicked over what had been done to her. All the niceties afterwards, protecting her by letting her stay at her house; all of it was total bullshit.

She heard bike motors and they sounded so distant, yet the line of riders rolled past them after just a moment and still she couldn't move. She could only stare at the man, and he was smiling at them and the ruin he'd just created, the rows of bikes parting to roll around him, looking for all the world like he couldn't be touched.

Tig parked next to her immediately, not bothering to follow the pack to their usual spots. He yanked her back roughly from the sidewalk, basically tossing her behind him, and squared his shoulders off at this snake. She could only imagine the way that jaw was set, how the eyes were beyond furious. "Who the fuck's this, Val?"

"That's him," she said numbly.

"You don't say."

"Be careful, Mr. Trager," the man warned. "I represent people who can not only make you hurt, but make you and everyone you care about completely disappear. From what I hear, your little family can't really stand to get any smaller, can it?"

Valerie didn't know what Tig was doing. She was barely listening. Her shock was wearing off. She was angry.

"Fucking _bitch_," Valerie whispered, irrational. The rest was a blur. Fists, kicks, yanked hair, and Tig hauling her off of Gemma, who was on the ground on her back, not even defending herself. Her lip was split and she licked it as she sat up, touching it carefully, her eyes not able to look at Val.

"Val, Val! What the fuck?"

Jax was there, helping his mom up. "Tig, get your old lady the hell out of here!"

"Tell them!" Valerie was screaming, through hysterical tears as it turned out. "Tell them what you did you_ fucking bitch_!"

"You're out of line," Jax was warning her.

"She sent them," Val was sobbing to Tig. "She sent those men to my house. So I'd be scared. So I'd want the club to protect me."

"Val, that's insane," he assured her gently.

Jax was not as nice. "Is she fucking crazy?"

"I did it," Gemma said, emotionless and cold, pulling out of Jax's grip. "I only wanted one guy to make like he was going to break in, scare her a little. We all knew who she was. I wanted her kept under wraps."

Valerie's shock was contagious. Tig was staring at Gemma, completely still. Jax was shaking his head. "Mom, what the hell -"

"I _never _would have asked them to do what they did. You _have _to know that wasn't part of it."

"Gem," Tig mumbled, not sure where else to go with it.

"I'm sorry. Val, I'm so sorry."

One man wasn't destroyed by all this. He was still outside the property line, still grinning at them. Valerie noticed him.

"I want that guy fucking _dead_," she spat out.

Tig was moving fast, even as Jax was yelling "Tig – no!"

He yanked the man past the gates by his shirt. Jax was muttering curse words but he also shouted for someone to close the gates.

Valerie could only stare at Gemma, and the woman's eyes were locked right on hers. She _was _sorry; Valerie could see it, plain as day. But her own rage had her absolutely shaking. She looked away so she didn't act on this bubbling urge kill her.

The brown-eyed man was on his back on the ground. Tig had him pinned there by the neck of his lovely, pressed, bright green shirt, down on one knee, a repetitive _twack-twack_ the only sound in the yard as his right was making contact with that tanned face. Valerie was completely numb to the violence, her world still floating somewhere between the reality of the cold, hard ground and the unbelievable evil step-mother fairy tale that man had just tossed at her.

"Christ Tig – at least take him to the garage," Jax finally shouting, pulling back on Tig's shoulders.

Tig stopped, got up, shaking out his hand.

Gemma was watching Tig, and her face really was saying she'd give anything to go back and not do it. Tig ignored her, opting instead to pace, not paying attention to anyone, clearly trying to process.

Jax was staring at his mother. She couldn't look at him.

The yard was entirely _too _quiet. Valerie looked past Tig, and the Sons who had returned from that first outing were all now assembled around their bikes, watching silently and waiting.

Jax turned to Valerie. "Are the Russians going to come looking for this guy?"

Valerie stared down at the man, who was sputtering around blood and broken nose cartilage. He was smart enough to stay put at least.

"He's Ukrainian," she said dismissively. The man in the green shirt looked up at her. "Popovs don't make Ukrainians. Only Russians. They'll use whatever he told them, come after me, and just kill him anyway."

Jax nodded, satisfied. "Tig, he's yours."


	41. Chapter 41

Jax took Valerie to the clubhouse, shutting them in the chapel alone. Jax sighed heavily as she sunk down into a chair without being asked, still numb, still reeling.

"Val, I'm so sorry this happened," he began, but she shook her head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she informed him sharply.

"I feel like I do. Gemma is … protective of the whole club. Having you out there was like a fucking lighthouse when it's kind of imperative that we lie low. I asked Tig to try to keep talking to you, just so we'd be in the loop with what you knew and didn't know."

She brought her eyes up to his. "You did that?"

Jax sighed again, running hands through his hair. "With all the bad guys I have breathing down my neck, the _last _thing I needed was some big swinging-dick mob boss from Russia setting foot in Charming and possibly screwing up what's actually working for us right now." He lowered his voice. "No one can know I told you this. We could lose the IRA gun connection. That's our money. If I lose that, I'll have to ask the Russians for a supply, just until I can find a way back into the IRA's good graces."

Valerie shook her head. "You were planning on handing me over to them?"

He shook his head. "Just getting the names. That's all I wanted. Honest to Christ, Val. Then when Gemma told me who your dad _really _was -"

Valerie had to cut him off. "I wouldn't believe anything that comes out of her mouth, Jax. Sorry. She's your mother but the bullshit output is amazing."

Jax sat down next to her, facing her. "Valerie, your father's side of your family could be a great help to me, too. There's nothing the Irish love more than a story of survival and resilience."

She rubbed her forehead. "My father was a foot soldier, Jax. He did gun and drug runs. Protection sometimes. That's all."

"Val. Look at me."

She did. He had the wisdom of someone much older and wise. She decided she would likely believe what came out of his mouth next, but that could still be the numbness making decisions for her.

"Your father was the illegitimate son of one of the real IRA. Sure, he died in a car bombing in the eighties, but your dad's dad was kind of a big deal."

Valerie knew she was making like an open-mouth bass but she couldn't help it. "His mom was a single parent. She died when he was eighteen -"

"Think, Val. How the hell did your dad get your mom, a Russian mob princess, and the mother of your half-brother, a sister of one of our Belfast chapter members, out of Ireland together?"

Valerie blinked a few more times. "Holy shit. How do you know all this?"

He shrugged. "I didn't. Gemma did. She remembers a lot of this stuff happening. And when you're the protective sort, like her, the wheels are always turning. She's always looking for an angle."

"Jax, she sent men to my house -"

"I know. That was dangerous and stupid, and she really picked the wrong people to ask. Obviously." He put his hands in his hair, sighing. "If the Russians weren't going to play ball, we were going to get hold of the IRA and tell them about you. They don't want to deal with me. They only trusted Clay and we got him locked up." Now he met her eyes. "We thought some kind of legacy connection with you might bully favour with them again. I never intended to _threaten _you to get them to come around. Please believe me. But with the way you and Tig were … I was hoping it could possibly bring them around. We found their little Anastasia."

Valerie had a sinking feeling. "Did Tig know -"

Jax shook his head. "No. Trust me. He's a terrible liar and you would have seen right through it. You tried to get him to leave you alone, and he was going to honour your wishes. I asked Gemma to talk to him about it being okay to trust people again, some bullshit." He looked somewhat embarrassed. "For that part I am sorry. We tried shoving him back at you, but he wouldn't go. Said you wouldn't want him. Then the attack happened and it seemed you two might actually end up together by some stroke of luck."

"So no one in the club knew about Gemma's plan?" Valerie had to be one hundred percent certain on that point.

Jax's eyes were steady on hers. "Hand to God, Val. She did that all on her own. Actually, right after your attack I thought there was _no way_ we were getting you two back together. When all of a sudden Tig comes to us, saying he wants to take out the guys that attacked his woman …" he had to laugh. "I thought maybe it was _you _playing_ us_ at that point."

She frowned. "_That's_ why you sent Chibs to my house?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Since you seem to like dirty old men I knew Juice wouldn't be the right one to test you."

She actually had to smile a bit at that. "I know you don't have to explain any of this to me. So I appreciate it."

Jax nodded. "I'm not going to the Russians. Not now. We'll try to make headway with the Irish, but I need your approval to let them know who you are."

Her heart sped up. "I don't want that." It didn't matter. He was still going to do it. This was a bureaucratic heads' up.

"We'll protect you, Val. But I'm putting a lot on the line by endorsing this revenge scheme Tig has. And this fucker we've got in the garage has decided to get involved in a way that is attracting a lot of law enforcement attention, what with cutting off those fucking heads. You're costing my club a lot of flak right now."

At that moment Valerie knew she respected this man greatly. At least he was asking the favour up front without just _springing _it on her. Valerie knew that was due to a slight amount of respect on his part, as well.

The club was his life. He would defend it however he could, even with his mother inadvertently pulling puppet strings and getting other people all tangled up.

"Leave my half-brother out of it?" It was a request, not a demand.

Jax nodded. "His identity remains secret. You have my word."

"And don't lie to use me as a means to an end."

He titled his head, confused.

Valerie took a deep breath, not sure how he'd take the next part. "I know how you played Tig to kill Pope and frame Clay." His eyebrows went up but she kept going. "In the end it worked. He's alive. And Tig is completely loyal to SAMCRO and to you. But if you use me like that and I think I'm about to get clipped for it, I will do everything I can to save myself. And if I do live through it I'll be so pissed you have no idea. So let me in on it at the beginning."

His smile was slow and small. "Okay." He wasn't patronizing. "I won't use you without your knowledge."

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded, relaxing back in his chair. "Of course."

"What would have done if Pope killed Tig?"

Jax frowned. "I wasn't going to let him kill him."

"He could have. Tig told me how it went down. He had time to kill him. What if the second you handed him over Pope just plugged him?"

Jax was nothing if not honest. "I would have capped Pope and framed Tig for it. This was better."

"Can I ask why you framed your stepfather?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Okay then." They maintained eye contact for another few seconds, then she nodded. "I'm trusting you."

"Good." Jax got to his feet, and so did she. "Because I'm trusting you."

He led the way out of the chapel. She followed him through the clubhouse, into the lot and to the garage. Conversation on the patio tables stopped as they passed by, hands frozen in the action of lighting cigarettes. The group of men who had taken off after the shooting were now back, too. She felt all their eyes on her at once. She noticed Juice, and he looked so regretful she had to give him a nod of reassurance. The only one not scared to move was Chibs.

He got off the bench, cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth, catching her by the arm. "I'm sorry, Val," he said.

She just waved him off, staying on Jax's heels as he opened the door to the garage and let her in. The overheard fluorescents were on, the bays empty of vehicles. A chair was positioned directly under a light, the man in the bright green shirt tied to it tightly, that lovely button-down now dirty and bloodied. His face was swelling. Apparently Tig had waited for her before doing any more damage.

"Okay, Tig," Jax began. "Here's the deal. Not only is Valerie a Russian mob princess, her grandfather on her dad's side was real IRA. He was killed not long after she was born."

Tig frowned at her. "You never told me that."

Fuck. With all the shit she'd just learned about her own circumstances this one barely registered. It was like finding out Mickey Boyle was left-handed. Valerie shrugged. "I never knew."

Jax cut in. "We go to the IRA, tell them about her. How we found her and we're going to keep her safe. Then we work in something about doing business with them again."

Tig's jaw locked. "You're not threatening her, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Jax assured him calmly. "We can just promise to take care of her, protect her from the Russians. It might come across like a soft threat but maybe it'll at least bring them to the table again."

Tig's blue eyes came back to her. "You're okay with this?"

She shrugged. "How else can it work? If the Russians end up here anyway it might be nice to have a little more help."

"That all sounds like a long shot, Jax."

"No choice, Tigger. And you know how the Irish love family."

Tig looked to her, sighing. "I don't like it. You spent a lot of time trying to get away from that shit."

"I know. But I'm in it. Up to my fucking elbows."


	42. Chapter 42

Luka Evanko was his name. And he'd been in contact with the Popov family in Russia, telling them that he _thought _Natalia Boyle was in Charming. They got that much out of him anyway. But when asked when or if the Popovs were sending anyone over to "collect" Valerie he got very quiet. She wasn't sure what he was protecting by not saying any more than that, so she was comfortable assuming they hadn't told him their plans. They wouldn't have to.

It didn't matter anyway. He wasn't leaving that garage under his own steam, and he knew it. So he was intent on pissing Tig off as much as possible. Every comment was met with another fist to the face, after which he spat blood on the floor. Valerie had no idea where this guy's confidence was coming from, but it was ill-advised. Every dull thud of Tig's fist hitting some part of the guy's skull was getting to her more and more.

His nose was mash. It was making her stomach heave a little bit. But the asshole could still talk.

"I don't see what the big deal is," the guy was actually laughing. "We were just breaking her in for you, cowboy."

Tig laughed along with him, the most chilling thing she'd ever heard. Then he connected fist with cheekbone, laugh stopping abruptly. "Shut up."

He was shaking out his hand, flexing his fingers. It must have been killing him. At least he put gloves on to protect his knuckles from the guy's teeth.

"No judgments from me," the guy's voice sounded wet and nasally. Blood was certainly running down the back of his throat. He wasn't using that nose for anything anytime soon. "It's nice in there. Ain't it? She's got a nice, tight little -"

He was interrupted by two more rapid hits to the face, then Tig kicked the chair over on its side, him still tied to it. He landed on his arm awkwardly, what with it being tied behind him. He cried out finally, hurt.

"Swear to God, I dare you to finish that fucking thought."

"You don't need to hear it from me. Although, that cunt was a little looser when we left. Sorry about that. We couldn't help ourselv -"

Tig kicked him straight in the face. It made her close her eyes, nausea definitely initiated. The sound, the way his head snapped back –

The man's eyes were furious when she opened her own again. He was glaring up at Tig, face a bloodied mash of flesh. Blood bubbled from his broken nose as he was breathing heavily in and out.

"Nothing else to say?" Tig snapped, crouching down. "You _know_ I ain't doing you in nice and clean like she did your boys. So consider this your epitaph because your corpse ain't being found, either."

Jax was standing next to her, leaning against the wall, legs crossed at his ankles and hands linked in front of him. Tig checked with his president, gazing up from his crouch. Jax just nodded. That's when Luka finally started blubbering.

"Fucking animals," he was snarling. "Just shoot me. Put a gun to my head and fucking shoot me."

"Nah," Tig drawled, like he'd actually considered it. "I'm all warmed up now."

He stood, and Valerie felt her heart jump. This was going to be bad. Violent. Disgusting.

Tig wouldn't look at her. Back to her and Jax, he extinguished the last of Luka's life with his boots. Skull gave way under his heels, blood sprayed, strangled breathing stopped except for Tig's own ragged gasping.

Jax stood up from his slightly reclined position. "So there it is," he said, turning to Valerie. "The four guys who attacked you are all dead. You're in to help us with the Irish, if you can?"

She nodded immediately. "Yes."

He offered her his hand, which she shook, sealing the deal, numb from what she'd just watched.

"Val," Jax said, softly this time, the _just business_ voice done. "None of this is okay with me, all right? What Gemma did? It's not okay. It will be dealt with."

With another nod to Tig Jax left, shutting the door behind him.

Valerie circled to stand next to Tig, not looking down, trying to take his hand, but he pulled it away to peel the gloves off, toss them in a trash can and then pace again.

She let him work through the fury, returning to the spot where she'd stood next to Jax, staring down at her feet, her toes, the scarred and chipped concrete of the garage floor –

The toes of his boots were in front of hers, and his hands were reaching for her own. She saw the damage done to his knuckles from the beating he'd dealt out before putting on the gloves. She avoided touching his knuckles; it would likely hurt.

Valerie peered up into his face, but it was still a closed door. He looked much older right then. "I don't like this plan," he said, matter-of-fact.

"I'm not thrilled, either. But like Jax said, this all kind messed with the club a bit. No free favours, right?"

He raised his eyes up. "Someone is with you at all times. And I don't mean that assistant. One of us. I will hide under your desk while people whine about their lack of erections if I have to."

"You can't be with me always. I'll just have to be careful and diligent, not take anything for granted. Come running here the instant anything seems off."

He was shaking his head. "I'm staying with you every night I can. If I can't, a prospect is sleeping on your couch, no arguments," he pre-empted her as soon as she opened her mouth to disagree, raising a finger to make a point.

"What about Gemma?" she asked, voice small.

He shook his head. "That ain't my call."

Valerie exhaled. "Nothing's going to happen to her. And she's still getting what she wanted."

Tig tilted her head up, sliding his other arm around her back. "Like I said, that ain't my call. I'm sick about what happened, Val. I never should have come to see you in the first place."

She frowned, the regret breaking through some of that numbing anger. "You were hurting. How could you know what would happen?" She sighed. "I'm so furious that everything played out just how she wanted it to."

Tig's voice finally broke from that frightening detached tone. "At least I got what I wanted."

She shook her head, too pissed to accept his attempt at lightness. "I mean it, Tig."

"Hey. Does revenge change anything? Hating people for what's in the past?"

She shook her head. "Don't throw my therapy back at me."

He lowered his head down, kissing her lightly. "If I'd kept my business to myself you never would have had to deal with me or this shit. That's a fact."

She gazed up into those blue eyes, breathing in the smell of leather and oil and man and tried to remember what it had been like to be all alone, starting her practice without knowing everything she knew now. She found she couldn't regret anything that had happened, not with him looking at her like she was the world to him.

"I could love you," she mused, slowly, like she was thinking out loud, not meaning to verbalize it. Immediately she felt panic for having said it. Christ, he was going to run for the doors at any minute.

He frowned. "What?"

Her brain was trying to figure out how to back-pedal. "Um … sorry. I mean -"

His eyes flicked over her and it reminded her of when they first met; like she was a bug pinned to cardboard and he was studying her. "Val, you're so fucked up."

"I know."

"It's perfect," he said softly, kissing her again. "Let me clean this up, then I'll take you out of here. Make sure you're safe." Even saying these things he still sounded slightly cold. Probably from the edge of adrenalin. She hoped so.

"You want me to help you?"

"Nah. I'll do it. I'll get a prospect to help." He backed up. "Go hang out somewhere. Go to my room, something. And no more physical assaults on Gemma, okay?"

"I'll try."

"Val."

"What? I said I'll try. But you can't honestly expect that I can be friends with her. Civil, yes. Friends, never."

His eyes had that look again, like he might be starting to pity her. She backed up further from him, dropping his hand. "Don't, don't feel bad for me."

"I don't, Val. It just feels like my fault. That's all." He backed away, too, dropping his eyes from hers and turning back to Evanko's body. "Like I said, find somewhere to hang out while I deal with this."

Now he sounded angry with her. Or maybe she was just too tired to think about all this crap. The strain of what he'd just done made everything feel odd, off kilter. She wasn't frightened of him, but she_ had_ just seen what he could do. She clearly needed time to process that.

Valerie turned on her heel and left him with Luka, eyes scanning the yard for Gemma Morrow. She didn't see her anywhere, thank God. The prospect, Phil, was already on his way to the garage with a handful of garbage bags and duct tape. She had trouble relating to her past life, _before_ corpse disposal was a regular occurrence.

She took a seat at one of the picnic tables out front, deciding that even the stuffy, muggy air outside was better than heading anywhere indoors. Fresh air was fresh air.

She had to process these developments and revelations. Of course she could appreciate that Gemma had _not _hired people to sexually assault her. She just hired people she didn't know well enough, likely based on a Slavic accent that would scare Valerie back into the fold. But that terrible, under-handed tactic was almost bordering on insane when you _really _thought about it. She couldn't remember ever seeing such manipulative behaviour before. Not to mention the complete lack of concern that anything _other _than a thwarted robbery was going to take place.

Complete reckless neglect.

And there was nothing Valerie could do about the consequences. She had to accept the club's protection as a tactic to get Irish guns into the hands of SAMCRO. How she came to be in this pickle was never going to be addressed to her satisfaction. And that's how it was going to be, no matter how _sorry_ Jax Teller was for what his mother had done. It wasn't like he'd hand her over to Val to kill with her bare hands.

"It's done then," a voice said.

She jumped. "Christ, stop sneaking up on me, Chibs."

"Sorry. You were lost in thought then?"

"Yeah, I was."

He climbed onto the bench next to her, sitting on the tabletop instead. "And boyo is dead?"

"Oh, he's dead all right."

"Feeling safer yet?"

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Yeah. Revenge is a funny thing. You spend so much time gearing up for it and then … you're still left with what was done to 'ya."

She peered at him over her shoulder. "Aren't you a wise one?"

He spared her a wink, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a hand-rolled something, likely _not _a regular cigarette. "You need this girl, you look ready to explode."

She didn't argue. Valerie took the joint, leaned into the lighter he held out to her, inhaling deep. She closed her eyes, exhaled on a bit of a cough and handed it back to him.

"No, take another one."

She did, then accepted it back from her. "Thank you," she said on the second exhale.

"Think nothing of it. And I'm sorry what Gemma did. That was … I can't even think of the word for it."

Valerie shook her head, closing her eyes. "I'm not … I'm not even thinking about that right now. I just can't. Not yet."

Chibs got up. "Fair enough. I'm just going to make one request. Please don't pit him against any of us because of what she did. That wouldn't be fair."

She opened her eyes, ready to argue, but he was already walking away in a cloud of smoke. Before she had time to ponder that last remark the door to the garage began trundling upwards loudly. Tig stood behind it, looking for her first and sliding sunglasses on.

He approached her, head down, and she stood up. He didn't touch her, just mumbled, "You ready to go?"

She nodded, but he wasn't looking at her. "Yeah, I'm ready."


	43. Chapter 43

The ride back to her house was strained. The walk to her front door and the wait for her to unlock it was odd. Tig was cold and shut off to her for whatever reason. She didn't want to push, but she was worried it was something she had done.

That was ridiculous. Maybe he was always like this after killing someone. How the hell should she know? But she found herself dying for _some _kind of reaction even it was just him telling her to shut up.

They stood in her foyer, her trying to get him to look at her. Finally she had to say _something_. "Is everything all right?"

He paced away from her, running his hands over his hair. "Everything's fine, Val. I just … need a minute here."

She nodded. "Okay. I think I'm going to try and ... get some sleep then."

He nodded, finally looking up at her. "Yeah. That's a good idea. Get some rest."

"Are _you _okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, too quick. Then he realized how pissed he sounded. He tried again, not really sounding any softer. "I'm fine. Just go to bed, I'll be out here. I just need a minute."

She had the urge to burst into tears, but instead she nodded and turned for the hallway, her _female _brain trying to find a reason for the change in his demeanor. It had to be what he'd just done. Or maybe he just needed a nap, too. She decided to just back off and give him space and time. It's what he wanted.

She put on pyjama shorts and a tank top before climbing into bed. The house was muggy and stuffy, but the way the sky was darkening she didn't bother opening a window.

The sheets felt cool somehow, which was a relief. She didn't bother pulling them all the way up, just tucking her bare legs underneath and closing her eyes, willing her brain to _stop _analyzing everything she'd just learned, seen and been part of.

She couldn't. The sight of that man's head crunching away under Tig's foot was still not as bad as the _sound _it had made. That was a truly_ angry_ killing. She didn't think she'd be capable of _that_. A gunshot was completely different; almost too easy and clean.

Gemma's admission had been the biggest blow. Valerie had trusted her. Even grown to _like _her. She had immediately been suspicious of the woman's kindness. Why had that changed? Why had she dropped that guard?

She remembered telling Jax's wife about how sudden kindness made her uncomfortable, and Tara's answer being somewhere along the lines of that being a good thing when it came to Gemma. How the hell did someone like Doctor Knowles handle this whole fucked up life?

She wasn't handling it, Valerie remembered. Tara was incarcerated, which Valerie thought was nuts, even as she admitted she didn't have all the details.

Valerie felt she had to find out how to arm herself against Gemma. The deal with Jax notwithstanding, she wanted to know what she was getting into. Her gut was telling her that Tara could likely help her out with that.

She _did _pass out eventually, because the next thing she knew there was rain hitting the window over the bed and thunder rumbled low somewhere in the distance. She stretched, feeling far too warm and kicking the sheets off of herself.

Valerie looked around the room. She was surprised to find herself still alone. She'd really expected Tig to join her, apparently.

She checked the clock. She'd been out for all of an hour at most, but the house seemed much darker. A glance out the window confirmed that the sky had indeed thickened to a dark gray, the rain splashing down nowhere near what those clouds were capable of.

At least it had cut down on the mugginess somewhat. She got to her feet, feeling better than she had before. She padded to her bedroom door, frowning that it had been closed. Tig must have checked on her.

She rubbed her eyes and yawned all the way down the hallway, noting that her house was absolutely silent. The rain sounded thunderous on the roof in comparison. The hall was dark, the living room looked gloomy.

Tig was on her most uncomfortable armchair, which was positioned closest to the front picture window of her home. He had his hand propped up on the arm, cheek resting on fist, dressed down to jeans and his shirt. His Ruger was resting on his thigh next to his available hand. He was staring out at her front yard, stoic and silent.

"Tig?"

At her voice he sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. "Hey, babe," his voice was relaxed, calm. She wondered if he'd been sleeping with his eyes open.

"You tired?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Just … watching."

Now he looked at her, and she could tell whatever wall he'd thrown up earlier in the day was crumbling. He moved the Ruger to the table next to him, held out his hand to her, and drew her closer when she took it. He pulled her down to his lap, rubbing her back in circles, his other hand gripping her thigh tightly.

She put an arm around the back of the chair behind his head, which he leaned back to look up at her. "You vanished on me," she scolded lightly.

"Yeah, I know. I was kind of …"

"Angry," she helped.

"Yeah. I was really angry," his tone was slightly bemused. "And I'm pissed that getting rid of that guy still doesn't mean you're safe."

She looked out at her yard. "It's really raining out there." He didn't answer. She checked his face again and he was peering up at her, curious and hard to read. "What?"

"Nothing."

They looked at each other for a long time, then he moved his face closer and kissed her. Her relief was immediate. She'd hated him being distant and aloof. She relaxed into his embrace, opening her mouth for his tongue, sighing as his hand tightened on her leg and hip.

"Why can't I get enough of you?" he mumbled, kissing her deeper and making her clutch at his arms tightly.

"I don't know," she whispered, parting from his mouth briefly. "But I'm glad."

His hands flexed on her again, his eyes getting darker with something other than anger. "What if I'm still a bit angry?"

She smiled. "That's okay. I'll take your mind off it."

He growled, kissing her again and tightening his grip on her almost painfully. She untangled herself from him with difficulty, pulling him to his feet.

"You seem tense," she observed. He just nodded, eyeing her up like a wolf. "Come on, Tiggy. Let's go back to bed for a bit."

He wasn't feeling playful, though. He picked her up, flung her over one shoulder and carried her down the hallway to her bedroom. He tossed her on her bed, dragging the pyjama bottoms down her legs immediately, Valerie raising her hips to help. He collapsed on the bed next to her, covering her mouth hungrily with his, his hand rough between her legs. She didn't mind in the least, parting her knees, moving her hips in agreement with what that hand was doing. Between that and the kissing it wasn't long until she was through a fast but thrilling orgasm, biting his lip and clawing at the arm that had done it to her.

He took off his clothes in a rush, and she yanked her top off before watching him, knowing this was likely going to be rough but it was totally fine with her.

He did strike fast, falling on her and shoving his way into her forcefully, making her gasp before he covered her lips with his, tongue giving her mouth the same treatment. Nails dug into his back, she held on tight and absorbed the crush of his hips against hers, her cries muffled.

It was so brutal she knew she wouldn't come like this, but it didn't mean it wasn't fantastic. She enjoyed the heat of him, the fierce intrusion of his body in hers. He was intent on making her scream though, and when he rose off of her he grasped her hips, turning her onto her stomach, bringing her hips up, shoving her shoulders down, her head to the side.

She made a noise of annoyance but it wasn't real. He was anything but gentle, joining them again forcefully, demanding.

Like this it almost _was _too much. The rhythm was easy to follow, the trouble was that he didn't ease up as she peaked. Her body was tightening with tremors, and he continued on, dragging it on and on so she was in a state of constant build-up, not quite _there._

"Tig," she breathed, "please. God, let it happen."

He buried himself in her completely and stilled, her body finally letting go, a scream tearing from her throat, which she muffled in her pillow. She was sweaty, panting and gasping to breathe. That was as much of a break as she was getting.

She wouldn't classify it as violent. She wasn't scared. She didn't _dislike _it. She just found it overwhelming. When he _did _finish, collapsing on her back, breathing heavily, Valerie collapsed as well, beyond spent, shaking and exhausted.

He left the bed. She stretched out on her stomach, eyes closed, listening to her heart rate slow gradually. The first time he'd started talking about sex in their sessions that was _exactly_ what she'd been assuming he would be like in bed.

She covered herself with a sheet, rolling to her side when he re-entered the room. He stared down at her for a moment and she smiled up at him, then it faded. Something was off. He was shut down to her again.

"What?" she asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

He kept staring at her, then shook his head. "Nothing. I … I'm going to call Juice to come and watch out for you. I've got to go."

She sat up. "What?"

He shook his head, reaching for his clothes. "I have to go. I've got shit to do."

She felt cold, silly to be naked right then, and completely stunned. "Okay."

He didn't spare her another glance as he dressed and left the room, no backward glance given, nothing. She heard him talking on the phone in the living room, and she decided to at least shower if someone else was coming over.

When Valerie emerged from her bedroom, dressed, hair still wet, Juice was already there. He smiled at her, shutting the fridge. "Hope it's okay if I have some water."

She looked around the living room, absently saying, "Sure. That's fine. Where's Tig?"

"Oh, he left when I got here."

She couldn't hide her annoyance. She sighed too loudly, turning on her heel to Juice. He immediately looked guilty. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

She just shook her head. "I have no fucking idea."


	44. Chapter 44

The day passed without word from anyone else. Juice was fine sleeping on the couch but she insisted he take the guest room. She wasn't okay with him sleeping on a sofa for some reason.

No word from Tig. Before she finally decided to turn in she was honestly expecting him to show up again. She waited until the last possible moment, then showed Juice to his room for the night.

The next morning she woke and made them both breakfast. At least Juice seemed to appreciate the omelette and turkey bacon she made.

Her phone remained stubbornly silent.

"So," Juice said around his last mouthful of egg white and mushroom, "what's the plan for today?"

She shrugged. "I think I'd like to take a little ride. It looks nice out."

Juice squinted outside. "What kind of ride?"

She shook her head. "On a unicycle, Juice. What do you think I mean?"

"Sorry, I didn't know you rode, Val."

Valerie put a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm bitchy. You're right. There's no way you would have known that."

Juice shrugged. "Just remember, I have to come with you."

"I know. But if I ask you to keep quiet about where we go, will you?"

His face fell. "Don't ask me to keep secrets from Jax, Val. I don't need any more trouble from the club -"

"Juice, no one would find out from me, trust me. I'm not telling anyone about this trek, either," then she frowned. "What do you mean you don't need any more trouble with the club?"

He spread his hands around his coffee cup. "I can't tell you, Val. I just … I gave them a reason to not quite trust me not too long ago. I'm trying to fly straight until they let me back in on stuff again."

She tilted her head. "I'm sorry, Juice. I didn't know -"

He got up abruptly. "Forget it, I didn't mention it, okay? Just … where do you want to go?"

Valerie was suddenly nervous to tell him, but then she decided _fuck it_. "San Joaquin Women's Correctional Facility?"

He actually guffawed. "What? Why the hell would you want to go there?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm bored. And I have the feeling Tara's not getting a lot of visitors."

Juice held both hands up. "Whoa, whoa, wait right there. I _can't _take you there, Val. Especially if you're going to see Tara."

"Why not? I like Tara."

Juice ran his hands over his head. "Shit, don't do this to me. Please."

"Then I'll just go on my own."

"Val, if the club finds out -"

"They won't," she assured him. "Because I can't tell them and you _certainly_ can't tell them."

Juice looked terrified. "Please Val, I'm begging you."

She shrugged. "I'm going Juice. And you're supposed to _watch out _for me, not keep me locked up. Right?"

"Val -"

"Juice," she volleyed back. Valerie felt horrible but Juice was the worst possible person to prevent her from doing this.

He shook his head. "I can't stop you. But I'm still going to tell them."

She shrugged. "Fine. You rode a bike last night, right?"

He was about to say yes, then he seemed to remember how much it had been raining when he came over. "Shit, no. I drove the van."

She made a disappointed face. "Well, try and keep up, okay?"

Juice did a decent job trailing her dad's bike. The Sunday traffic was light so there was little chance she was going to lose him anyway.

The previous evening she'd looked up the visitor's hours for the jail online. They were only noon to four, so she wanted to be there right at noon in case Tara regularly got visitors. It was unlikely but Valerie wanted to reduce her risks of running into anyone else associated with the club.

She pulled to a stop in the parking lot, killing the engine and kicking the stand down while she took off her helmet. Juice pulled up next to her as she dismounted the bike and shrugged out of her jacket. "Are you coming in with me?" she asked sunnily.

Poor Juice looked sick to his stomach. "Hell no," he answered immediately.

She tossed her jacket through the van window at him. "Good. Watch my jacket, please?"

Valerie signed in the guest register right at 12:04. There was no one else on the list.

She was shown to an open cafeteria-looking room, led to one of the round tables and told to "sit here and wait."

So she did. She strummed her fingers on the stainless steel tabletop, surveying the room and feeling the oppressive institutional effect settling on her head and shoulders. It didn't make her any less nervous.

A steel door swung open loudly, making her jump. A male guard was leading Tara Knowles into the room, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. She wasn't restrained. Tara's face registered surprise when she saw Valerie, and she looked _happy_.

Valerie returned the smile, waited for the guard to leave, then put her elbows on the table. "Hi," she greeted the doctor.

Tara was still surprised, shaking her head. "Valerie, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not pleased to finally have a visitor but …" she broke into a wider grin. "God, it's nice to finally see someone from outside."

"Has anyone been to visit you?"

Tara's eyes dropped from hers and her smile faltered. "No. I haven't seen anyone."

Valerie leaned forward a bit. "Tara, I know you don't know me that well, but … what the hell happened? Did you help a prisoner kill someone?"

Tara gave her a long, studious look, clearly trying to judge how much to tell her. Then, abruptly, she shook her head. "I was doing him a favour. He wanted some things that belonged to his wife. She died a while back and … I don't know." She covered her face. "It was stupid. I should have thought about it first. But it was this cross and he stabbed a nurse with it and -"

"Why'd he do that? And why were you helping him?"

Tara dropped her hands. "I don't even remember now."

Valerie gave an incredulous laugh. "What?"

Tara shook her head again like she was getting rid of an Etch-A-Sketch. "It's a lot of club stuff that I don't think I can tell you. And you probably don't want to know anyway."

Valerie took a deep breath. "Gemma hired a guy to pretend to break into my house so I'd be scared and come to Tig for protection."

Tara's mouth fell open. "She what?"

"Instead, the guy hired some people to help, and they did a lot more than _pretend_ they wanted to rob me. One of the guys somehow figured out my past, and he's been in contact with my mother's bad relations, wanting to give me back to them. So no, she didn't do it on purpose, but Gemma fucked me over. And as I sit here talking to you I have to wonder if you're not in here because of her, too."

Tara's nod was small, but it got more pronounced. "Yeah. I totally am."

"Please tell me what she did. And what she's capable of."

Tara's laugh was completely without humour. "She's capable of getting me thrown in here! She capable of convincing her son _not _to run away somewhere safer with his boys and his wife. She's capable of smiling to your face as she stabs you in the back." Tara put a hand to her forehead. "There's nothing she wouldn't do to protect the club. Did she tell you about the time she was raped?"

Valerie nodded. "Yeah, shortly after she found out _who _I was."

"She didn't tell _anyone _about it after it happened. Made the sheriff that found her _swear _he wouldn't start an investigation. Then when I've got Jax convinced he should leave town and go anywhere else but here, she unloads that story and he's right back in. That sounds selfish, I know but … her ability to manipulate is astounding."

Valerie was nodding. "I'm realizing that."

"This club almost ended my career once before, too." Tara was close to tears now, sniffling. "Not that it compares to being _incarcerated_, but her husband arranged to have me kidnapped. They broke my hand in the process. I didn't think I'd cut again."

She let Tara collect herself, wiping at her brown eyes angrily and looking everywhere _but _at Valerie. "My husband just sat there as they led me away in handcuffs. Didn't say a thing, move a muscle to stop it. It's in his brain that this club is more important than his own _sons_."

Valerie studied her hands on the table. Finally she said lamely, "I'm so sorry Tara. This is all … this is horrible."

"Jax wanted to get them into more legitimate and long-term business, just like his father wanted. And then … I don't even know what fucking happened. It was before Opie's death. It might have been avenging Gemma, I don't know. He was ready to go. _We _were ready to leave and get out. But … she has a way getting what she wants. Always." Her eyes levelled on Val's. "You have to get out of this. You have to get out of Charming, just leave."

Valerie splayed her hands. "How? There's an entire group of people here now who know who I am. I'd have to go to Canada to get away."

"Then go." Tara's eyes dropped back to the table. "I don't know Tig very well. But if he really cares about you, he'll let you leave, too."

She felt a lump in her throat at the thought. "Even if he does let me go, the _Sons _won't. I owe them a favour now."

Tara squared off. "I'd never have the guts to tell him. But there is _one _thing about Gemma that Jax doesn't know that I _do_. And she knew I was aware of this. I wish I'd had a chance to play it before she got Jax to not trust me."

Valerie leaned forward, dying to know but not wanting to at the same time. "Tara, don't tell me this. You have children here, if you need this information to get yourself free and clear you need to keep it close to your chest."

Tara shook her head. "Trust me. This tidbit will be enough to drive Jax away from Gemma for good. No matter _who _tells him."


	45. Chapter 45

Valerie made sure to give Tara a grateful hug and wished her well; she was pretty sure she'd be barred from visiting again. Her head was spinning from Tara's big revelation as she left the visitor's lounge. She didn't think she could ever use that kind of intel against someone, but if pushed who knew? It _did_ feel a little bit better to have an ace up your sleeve.

When she returned to her bike Juice and the van were gone. Her jacket was draped over the handlebars and another bike was next to hers, Chibs leaning against it casually smoking a cigarette.

When he saw her he stood up, pulling his sunglasses off so rapidly she had a moment to actually pause. Yeah, he was pissed.

"Honest to Christ, sweetheart, try pulling this shit with me next time. I dare 'ya."

"He told you?" she shouldn't have been surprised, really.

"Of _course _he told me."

Valerie stood her ground, suddenly aware she didn't know this man well enough to guess how he was going to react. "Is there an official list of places I'm not allowed to go? An alphabetized print out? Because that might help."

"Juice told 'ya not to come here. Why couldn't 'ya listen?"

She pulled her jacket on with jerky movements. "You know what? This babysitting feels a lot more like imprisonment."

"It's for your own good, Val."

"You know what? It feels a lot like someone keeping an eye on an _investment, _not me. I mean, your president it going to put word out in the wind who I am, possibly letting known killers and assassins know _where_ I am. Stop pretending you're actually concerned something might happen to me now. It's because of this damn club I'm even in danger in the first place."

Chibs just shook his head, still plenty pissed off. "What the fuck happened anyway? What could you possibly have to talk to Tara about?"

She laughed. "How about it's none of your business?"

He flipped a hand and stalked away from her, tossing the cigarette butt. "It's like being around bloody teenagers," he was muttering. Then he spun back on her. "And what the hell happened with Tig? Did you break up with him or something?"

She frowned, caught off guard and momentarily speechless. "What? No. What?"

Chibs took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair like he was trying to go bald. "Fuck!"

"Why? Why did you ask that?"

He shook his head. "He came roaring into the clubhouse last night and started pounding back liquor like a country-western song. That's all."

She would have believed him if he hadn't added the _That's all_. "What else?"

Chibs got on his bike. "No, you're getting on that bike and going to your house _right now _or I'm tying you to my back and taking you with me."

She stood in front of his Dyna and grabbed the handlebars as he was about to start it. In some places that gave a guy reason to kill you, and the look she got was designed to do just that.

"Get out of the way, Val."

"What else did he do, Chibs?"

"This isn't Jerry Springer, Val. It's not the place for coming clean. Get your narrow ass on that bike and get home _now_."

She stared him down, or tried to, for another thirty seconds, but he wasn't giving in. So she stalked to her bike, pulled her helmet on angrily and kick-started the engine. He motioned like she was to lead the way, which was fine with her.

She wasn't heading home anyway.

Upon returning to Charming, Valerie missed the turn for her nice, cosy neighbourhood and instead opted to head for the Teller-Morrow garage. She could hear Chibs behind her, trying to make up distance the second he realized where she was going. She wasn't as good a rider as he was, so there was no _losing _him. She also didn't see how he could stop her short of causing an accident, and he wasn't going to pull that kind of stunt.

Not that she _thought _anyway.

The gates to the lot were open. A few bikes were lined up. She pulled in behind Tig's and killed the motor, swinging her leg off her bike and undoing the helmet as she strode towards the clubhouse.

Chibs was right behind her. He was jogging to catch up to her but not once did she think he was going to hurt her. Not as much as what was inside the clubhouse, probably.

She shoved the door open and continued her determined pace to the hallway and back to the dorm rooms. Tig's door was closed and locked when she tried the knob.

Chibs caught her shoulder then. "Val, go home. Just trust me."

She finally looked him in the fast, truly _looked _him in the eye. She already knew the answer right then but asked the question anyway. "Is he alone in there?"

Chibs fell quiet, stepping back. He wasn't a liar, either.

She knocked on the door, keeping her gaze on his face. His pity was too much, and the tears sprang to her eyes before she even knew for sure what was on the other side.

The door swung open. The blonde that answered it was topless.

Val took a deep shuddering breath, all but gasping out, "Is Tig here?" like she'd been hit in the gut and the wind was knocked right out of her.

The blonde wordlessly opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside. He was asleep on top of the covers, still wearing most of his clothes. His pants were undone. There were two empty booze bottles on the bedside table.

"He's … sleeping," the blonde said too brightly.

Valerie turned heart-broken eyes on her. "Did you fuck him?"

The girl seemed surprised by the question. "Well … yeah."

Valerie nodded. "Right. Stupid me." Chibs put a hand on her shoulder. She shoved him off with a very loud "Fuck off!"

It woke Tig. He sat up quickly, head darting around like he expected an attack. Then his eyes settled on her. Blinked once. Rubbed his face. Looked at her again.

No reaction. Not so much as a _shit I'm busted _gulp.

She nodded. "Right. Fucking bastard." It didn't have nearly enough venom but she was so close to crying she'd never sound sufficiently pissed off. She shoved Chibs out of her way and stomped through the bar, something about her body language sending much larger men scrambling to get out of her path.

At her bike she stopped, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing herself to calm down. _Don't cry. Calm down. You can't ride like this._

It was like standing on a cliff, watching the wind blow away the very ground below your feet, knowing you had nowhere to go to escape the inevitable. She was stuck. All she could do was fall.

"Val."

She shook her head and turned away from the sound of Chibs' voice.

"Valerie." He was closer, and his tone was a complete 180 from where it had been outside the jail. She opened her eyes and turned back to him, freeing a few tears to run down her cheeks. He looked sorry, at least, but he certainly didn't owe her apologies.

"Don't tell me it's going to be okay and this is just how he is," she pleaded.

"I wasn't going to," he assured her. "But can you just, for a moment, think why he might have done this."

She shook her head and wiped at her face. "I know why he did it. I'm the fucking therapist, remember?"

Chibs shook his head, his voice all too agreeable. "Not the whole 'unable to commit' thing. Why do we hurt people sometimes?"

She grabbed her helmet. "I don't know, Chibs. I don't hurt people I pretend to care about. That's not how I'm made."

"I don't think he was pretending, Valerie."

Her laugh was getting colder. She fastened the strap under her chin and swung a leg over the seat of her Sportster. "I'm going home now, Chibs. Don't worry about me. I'll sit there and wait for whoever to come through my door and kill me like a good little ward. I promise. Just … stop talking to me."

Chibs let her take off, but he was still tailing her past the industrial zone and back to the quieter, greener, prettier parts of Charming. The change in scenery didn't help her mood at all.

She parked in her driveway, stalked to her front door and kicked off her shoes on the front mat. She left the door open, making her way into the kitchen and wrenching the freezer door open.

It was 4pm. Surely that was late enough for alcohol. She yanked the vodka out of the door rack almost violently, dropped the cap on the counter and downed the longest and most painful swig of booze she could remember ever taking. It seemed to burn right through her esophagus and to her very lungs. She coughed, put the bottle down, and leaned on her island counter with both hands, waiting to start crying again. It didn't come.

Chibs shut her front door, threw the dead bolt, and took a seat on a stool across the island from her far too calmly. Great, now he was a strong and silent sounding board.

"Were you making sure I saw that?" she snapped. "Was that the whole point?"

Chibs set his sunglasses down on the granite, shaking his hair back. "No Val, I wasn't trying to break your heart. I swear."

She took another drink. He got to his feet, circled behind her, went through her cupboards and eventually put a glass down in front of her. "At least use a glass, sweetheart."

She poured about two and a half inches into the tumbler and put the bottle down loudly. He returned to his seat, unaffected.

"You won't believe me, but I'm saying it anyway. If you want a dog to run away from you, you don't ask it nicely. You hit it a few times. You hurt it enough so it doesn't want anything to do with you."

She drank that glass down in one go. "Is that was he was doing? Driving me away?"

Chibs reached across and poured her more vodka. "I'm going to say one more thing on it, and then I'm done. If you get a chance to run without us knowing, do it." His eyes were incredibly intent on hers. "You get away if you can, Val."


	46. Chapter 46

When she woke on Monday morning she had no idea how she'd managed to get to bed, but apparently she had. She was dressed in what she'd been wearing the previous day, which indicated she'd most likely been _poured _into bed the evening before. Valerie couldn't remember much.

She showered in not-too-warm water, the room still spinning slightly when she got out of the tub. Her stomach heaved a little but she kept it together long enough to blow dry her hair and get dressed.

She walked carefully down the hallway, her headache pounding out a god-awful beat behind her eyes. When she got to the living room she could see a body in her armchair, which was still in the same position as Tig had left it a couple days before, watching out the front windows. That's when she realized there was also a clear line of sight to the patio door from that spot as well.

But it was Chibs in the chair, not Tig, and her heart sank a bit. Apparently she'd hoped he would come back to take Chibs' place and try to talk to her.

But no. He'd stayed away again.

Unaware of her disappointment, Chibs offered her a tentative smile. "I'd hate to be you right now," he drawled sarcastically.

She flipped him the bird and he laughed. "You should be proud, girl. You kicked that bottle's ass. If it were whiskey I'd have a tear in my eye, too."

"Do you want breakfast?" She asked, moving like a slug to her coffee maker first.

"No thanks. Wouldn't do that to you."

She got the coffee started and made herself some toast. She really needed something in her stomach or she was going to feel like death warmed-over all damn day. And that was _before _remembering all the lovely revelations of the past weekend.

Angry. Betrayed. Shocked. Hurt. Back to betrayed, hurt, angry as well as humiliated. And that was just two days. She watched Chibs over the rim of her coffee mug, one of the last things she could remember him actually _saying _to her the day before coming back to her._ You get away if you can, Val._

After that he'd sat in the same spot he was in now, watching out for her. He hadn't said another word as she'd had her way with almost an entire bottle of vodka, likely doing her mother quite proud with the feat. She hadn't eaten, either. No wonder she felt like dog shit.

_Bullshit. That's not why you feel _half_ as bad as you do right now_.

More than anything she was now also mortified. Gemma's misstep aside, without it she would still be just as badly off emotionally. The only difference is, theoretically, she would be in a bit less danger. Every other part of her would still feel tattered, though.

None of this would be happening if she'd just done her job in the first place. Did it excuse anyone from what they'd done? No, of course not. But expecting people to behave outside of their nature was –

She squeezed her eyes shut. No, she couldn't paint Tig with the same brush she'd use on Gemma. She should have expected something like this from Gemma based on her first impression of the woman. This was all completely in character. Valerie should have never trusted her.

Valerie thought she knew Tig, she honestly did. Well, lesson learned._ Get the hell out of here, never look back, and from now on only date guys named Nathan with no accepted nicknames, _if_ you must date at all. Leave Dad's bike, no ties at all._

It would suck to give the place up and take off on Teresa, though. She'd likely have to dismiss Malcolm as well. _Anyone_ who knew Valerie Turner would be off limits. New identity; those weren't cheap. Back to school for certification in some kind of career for said new identity; also expensive.

Moving, uprooting, saying goodbye; all very taxing on the spirit.

She stared down at her crumb-speckled plate. She had it in her, she was that determined to live. She'd proven it. Could she do it without apology from the one person that really owed her one?

Betrayal was what Gemma had committed. Tig's actions required a bigger, better word. Or _badder _word, depending on how you looked at it. Unfaithfulness was too fluffy. Infidelity required a formal commitment. Treachery didn't feel quite right, even though it certainly felt like he'd intended harm.

Disloyalty was good. She'd trusted him in so many ways. Having it tossed back at her like it was nothing? That hurt. That cut to the quick.

"What time is that office of yours opening up, Doctor?" Chibs asked, bringing her back to the present and unlocking her from her musings, as well as reminding her of her hangover.

"Ten," she answered, eyes darting to the clock on the stove. "Shit!"

"Someone's here," Chibs went on. "Pretty little blonde."

"Teresa, my assistant," she said, downing the rest of her coffee.

"Right. The one you were at the bar with the other night."

She met his eye. She suddenly had no idea what to say, remembering that they'd all seen her with the blind date. Shit, and it was Chibs that came to get Tig from the bathroom.

She was likely blushing, for absolutely no good reason. She tried to be light. "Yes, that's my match-making assistant."

"I don't think she's very good at the match-making part."

"No," Valerie agreed, opening the connecting door to her office lobby, "she's really not. Don't come in unless you hear trouble, okay?"

"Don't worry, Valerie. I know when to leave a door shut."

She flipped him the bird again and shut the door behind her as Teresa came breezing through the front door looking too carefree and bloody happy. Valerie's headache only intensified.

"Hey Val! How was your -" her face must have given something away. Teresa put down her purse and came forward. "Valerie? What's wrong?"

Yup, there were tears in her eyes, but she took a deep breath and tilted her head back, holding up a hand to stop the approaching hug. She was leaving. She was getting out of Charming and not letting anyone know. Growing a friendship before leaving would be mean.

"I'm fine. I'm tired, I had trouble sleeping."

Valerie shut herself in her office, wiping at leaking eyes, not wanting to hear another word Teresa had to say. Really, at the end of the day, this mess was her own making. She couldn't blame anyone else for it.

She threw herself into her work with complete dedication. Other people's problems seemed normal and so hum-drum now, and she tried to let herself slide back into the comfortable routine where other people losing the spice in their relationship was the most pressing and troubling issue a person could have.

There was a steady rotation of leather-clad bikers guarding her day and night. It seemed silly until she remembered what Luka had been capable of all on his own with a bit of money at his disposal. It was amazing no one had been killed at Teller-Morrow, really. And his _comrades_ being able to buy the scare-tactic services of a group that had once been in good standing with the _Sons of Anarchy _spoke volumes of the kind of shit the club had gotten itself into.

Chibs and Juice were her regular guardians. She was the most comfortable with them, so that suited her fine when they were the ones staying in her spare room overnight, although Chibs insisted on sleeping on the couch for some reason.

The day rotation seemed more varied. She was at work when they were in her home, so technically she didn't have to sit there and stare at them. That suited her fine as well.

The one called Bobby, who had never really trusted her in the first place, still gave her a wide berth and one-word answers. He wasn't there _too_ often, and when he was he had his nose buried in a book and basically ignored her. Sometimes the two prospects – Miles and Phil – both sat in her living room, plugging some game console into the TV to pass the time. A few times a guy named Happy, who she recognized from the few times she's been at the clubhouse, sat in her house and made her so twitchy even on the other side of her office door. She had no idea what he did over there, and the way he looked at her freaked her out. He was never rude or intimidating; he just gave her the willies.

One person was visibly absent from watching out for her. Valerie hoped like hell he felt terrible for blatantly hurting her as he had, and the fact that he hadn't so much as apologized for it was starting to really piss her off. After all the guilt he felt for "dragging her into all this," he had no guilt about betraying her like that?

The simple answer was he'd been full of shit all along.

Yet when she was at her angriest, stewing on all this emotion for too long, she still found it somewhat unbelievable. That he could so purposefully try to destroy whatever it was she might have been feeling for him. For what? Something so meaningless and stupid.

She'd seen him cry, for fuck's sake. She'd seen him as everything _but _the big bad wolf everyone else knew him as. He was everything except one-dimensional and single-minded. The complete turn-around had her so puzzled her stomach got upset just thinking about it.

Like a complete idiot she clung to the one lifesaver Chibs had thrown her; Tig wanted her to be okay with walking away if she got the chance. He didn't want to be the reason she stayed if opportunity arose to get out of Charming. Sure it was a somewhat self-service way to do it; no one could think he was sacrificing too much if he could get laid while making sure she was totally done with him.

Any way she sliced it, she was better off on her own. Always had been. She'd made it this far on her own, and life would go on. She didn't _need _Tig Trager to be complete.

She just … _wanted _him. Still did. Even with everything that had happened that she knew about. Who knew what else he'd done since she'd last seen him. And even with her imagination filing in all kinds of blanks … yeah, she still wanted him.

Days turned into weeks. No word from the Russians. From time to time Jax let her in on conversational developments with the IRA, but so far it would seem they were only marginally interested to hear that Liam O'Hara had a bastard son that made it to America. She tried to be disappointed that she wasn't helping the Sons with their gun troubles but … she couldn't muster it.

Maybe they'd just let her leave anyway, without her having to play the card that Tara had dealt her under the table. Just maybe.


	47. Chapter 47

Valerie had no feeling about Mondays over any other days anymore. At least on Mondays she wasn't trapped in her house, unable to go anywhere without people tailing her.

She left Chibs to wait for the day-watch with her toaster and a loaf of bread. The Scot didn't eat as much as Juice did, so the mornings where Chibs was her breakfast companion were like a day off all on their own.

This particular Monday, three weeks following the incident where Tig made hamburger of her heart, was a real red-letter day. Three brand new pairs of patients, all lined up for the morning. Easy, getting-to-know-you stuff. She was actually looking forward to it.

First couple of the day were those well-preserved, athletic-type people who looked like they spent their spare time surfing. He was a school teacher, she worked at the hospital on the cleaning crew. Nice people, looking for a bit spice. They'd been married seventeen years. Valerie found herself liking them immensely.

Again, forging a relationship with patients that Valerie was planning on abandoning. It felt like a betrayal, getting to know them while planning to bolt as soon as the gate was left open.

The second couple was exactly what the first couple was _not_. As soon as they entered the room and sat down she knew she wasn't going to like them.

His tan was ridiculous. His skin was flushed and saggy, something she'd always associated with heavy drinking on men who were slightly overweight. His clothes looked expensive from what she could tell. He kept his graying hair very short, she suspected because it appeared to be thinning. His hands were crusted with heavy gold rings. His shoes likely cost as much as her car.

The woman's hair was the definition of platinum blonde. Her eyebrows were arched with laser-precision. Her lipstick looked like it couldn't be taken off, and the rest of her make-up had to have been done by a pro. Valerie had never been able to use liquid eyeliner that perfectly on herself, that was for sure. Her clothes reeked of expensive boutiques.

Valerie was terrified as she said, "So, tell me a bit about yourselves. You go first, Ms. Klein."

The woman looked from her to the man, and the jerkiness of the motion sent up a flag. She was scared too, but not of Valerie. She was scared of this man.

Valerie turned her gaze to him. "Or we can start with you."

The man smiled. Valerie's blood froze in her veins before he spoke.

"Oh yes, I will gladly speak first," the man said, leaning forward with big hands on his knees.

She gulped. Fuck, that accent.

Valerie's first instinct was to run. She got to her feet, paused a half second, then started for the door, her heart in her throat and sweat already under her arms. Just get to Chibs and tell him -

Big, hot hands grabbed her by both arms and swung her around, slamming her back to the wall beside the door. It was the work of a moment for him to completely immobilize her, shoving his knee between her legs and forcing his forearm across her throat. Looks were deceiving; she never would have guessed he could move that fast. She tried to reposition her head so she could breathe without her windpipe being crushed, which he allowed by easing up just slightly on her neck.

"No running," he whispered, hot breath on her face that smelled like teeth in need of a good brushing. "I know about your little friend next door. We know you are being watched."

Her eyes met his. His were curious, searching. She bet hers were scared, but hopefully not giving him too much of a reaction. As closely as he had her pinned she wasn't getting any scuzzy vibes from him; this was to keep her in place and keep her quiet.

A tentative knock came on the door. "Valerie? What was that sound? Are you okay?"

He let go of her neck completely, nodding to the door. She knew what was expected.

"It's fine, Teresa. I … dropped something."

"Okay."

Everyone sat silent, waiting for another question. There wasn't one. It had worked to get Teresa back to her desk.

Still he held her in place. His face was just inches from hers, that stare enough to hold her where she was even if he hadn't been all over her.

"Are you going to scuffle with me?" he asked, low in his throat.

She shook her head.

"Say it," he demanded.

"No, I won't, I swear. I'm sorry."

Her submissiveness worked. He waited another minute then nodded and stepped back. To her discomfort he helped her straighten out her blouse which had been wrenched askew.

"There you are," he said, holding her around the elbow and steering her back to the cosy furniture arrangement. "Presentable again. Now sit."

The voice left no room for argument, so Valerie did as told.

He smoothed out his slacks as he sat in the same chair as before, continuing as though nothing had just happened. "Can you tell me where Luka has gone? I finally arrived yesterday and he's nowhere to be found. His cell seems to be dead." The man leaned forward. "You know who I speak of, Luka, yes?"

She swallowed again. "Sorry, I'm not familiar with anyone by that name."

He smiled at her. She didn't dare return the favour.

"Now now. Doctor _Turner_. You shouldn't lie to your patients."

Her voice was quaking. "I get the feeling you have no interest in being my patient."

He laughed at that. An honest-to-God Bond-villain chuckle that made goose flesh jump out on her skin. "That's true. If I can't get my rocks off I move on to a newer model. Right Yvette?"

The blonde just blinked at him. Valerie was going to bet Yvette didn't even speak English.

"Now, listen carefully, dear _Valerie_," the way he played with her names was creepy as fuck. "You have an uncle coming to town very soon. I was asked to stop here as a favour and let you know this." He held up a finger. "We could care less for this Ukrainian _ublyudok _that can't even be bothered to answer his phone. When your uncle gets here, he will want to talk to you. Just talk, understand? Nod yes for me."

Valerie nodded.

"Good. And when I mean _you_, I mean _only _you. He could give a shit about this motorcycle gang you've taken up with. They are _fleas _compared to what your uncle is capable of. Nod that you understand."

Valerie nodded again.

"Good. Your uncle will be here in three days. He will meet you for lunch. Yvette will be coming to take you there. You will travel with her or your uncle will hear of it. And if you're followed, he will kill Yvette as soon as he finds out."

Valerie balked, but Yvette just looked at her, head titled in concern. She had no idea what the hell was going on.

"I understand all that," Valerie said, nowhere near calm and collected.

"Good. We will leave now. You can tell your receptionist what you like to explain our abbreviated appointment as I will be leaving town right away. Yvette is staying at the Charming Motor Inn with a bodyguard. She likes bikers, in case any of your boys get lonely." He turned to the blonde, barking almost angrily. "_Poydem_."

Yvette stood on willowy legs, following him to the door expertly on four inch heels. Valerie waited until the bell over the main door tinkled before hitting the lobby at a sprinting pace, ignoring Teresa's confused face over the shortened visit and flying through the door into the living room.

Chibs was in the kitchen, eating toast. "Don't you have peanut butter?" he asked around a mouthful.

"The Russians, they're here. One's leaving right now," she said in the most panicky tone she'd had to use in a while.

Chibs dropped the crust, headed for the front window while pulling his piece and reaching for his phone. He watched out the front window while dialling.

Valerie collapsed onto the sofa, willing her heart to start beating again. Her palms were coated with a chilled sweat. "They knew you were here. They've had people watching, I don't know who though."

Teresa cleared her throat from the doorway. "Val? Who was that? What's going on? And who are … _The Russians?"_

Shit. Double-shit. Chibs turned on Teresa fast, and she jumped back as though he'd intentionally drawn his firearm on her.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I-I'm Teresa," she stammered, hands up, palms out. "I'm the assistant."

"Teresa, go back to the office," Valerie instructed wearily, resting her forehead on her hands, elbows propped on her knees.

"Valerie, are you in trouble?" she whispered it as though Chibs might not need to know what's going on.

Valerie dropped her hands. "Always, Teresa. Just please … go back into the office. I'll try to explain it the best I can."

Bullshit, of course. She couldn't tell her anything about any of this because it was all too ridiculously dangerous.

"Valerie, if it's time for outside help just say the word and I can call the police -"

"Teresa," she snapped, making the younger woman jump. "Please, listen to me. Just call the rest of my patients for today and cancel. Okay?"

Teresa nodded, looking slightly wounded, but she shut the door as asked.

Chibs was still staring out the window, and eventually someone picked up his call. "The Russians have arrived. Let Jax know. There's a black Lincoln town car pulling away from Val's right now. There aren't too many of those around Charming." He barked out the license plate, then hung up.

Valerie was watching his face like she needed some kind of instruction on what to do next. He just nodded to the door. "Is _that _going to be a problem?"

She looked at the shut door quickly. "No. She's timid enough that she'd rather _not _know what's going on, and pay for the privilege by keeping to herself."


	48. Chapter 48

Chibs nodded, convinced that Teresa would keep her mouth closed.

"So now what?" Valerie didn't want to stand up. Her knees still felt shaky.

"You sit here with me. We let the club find that car and drive around."

Now she did stand. "What? He's just down the street. Go after him!"

Chibs held a finger up, silencing her like Tig had done on a few occasions. "Remember the last time the cavalry left the fort to chase the bad guys? Leaving you and Gemma under the protection of Filthy Phil?"

Valerie frowned. "You call him _Filthy _Phil?"

"No, I stay here and make sure it's not a diversion. That car will not blend in. Did he say if they were passing through?"

She chewed her lip. "Oh, he said the woman would be staying at the Charming Motor Inn until my uncle got here. Then she'd take me to have lunch with him in three days."

"But that man wasn't staying?"

"No."

"What name did he give you?"

"Uh, uh. Daniel and Yvette Klein."

He flipped his phone open again. Valerie sank back to the sofa while he ordered Juice to head to the Charming Motor Inn to find the room for Klein.

It was a sunny day, she noted. Second one in a row. It seemed so much greener outside after all that rain on Saturday.

"Val?"

She blinked, snapping back with Chibs' voice. "Sorry. What?"

"I said, 'Are you okay?' You going to be sick?"

"I don't think so."

He frowned, but then his phone rang again and he answered it, turning away from her and checking out the front window.

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back. She felt okay now, but her hands were trembling and her heart rate was still too rapid. She almost felt like she could be sick.

"Yeah, I stayed here with her. They were heading west." Pause. "Ah shit. Bastards are here. I think I know where they're getting their guns from now. I'll get her somewhere safe, don't worry."

Valerie was already getting up as Chib spun and reached for her. She was about to suggest the crawlspace when her front window loudly exploded, sending glass shrapnel flying. The wind was knocked from her as Chibs fell on her, her back hitting the floor nice and squarely. He covered her head with his arms.

Neither of them had made a noise, even as the automatic gunfire continued to tear through the front of her house, peppering the drywall and kitchen cupboards, even taking out her patio door and the window over the sink.

When it stopped the silence itself seemed deafening, the squealing tires sounding very far away over the ringing in her ears. Chibs got up on one knee, checking out the window over his shoulder.

It hadn't been as big as the assault on the garage had been. But her ears were certainly ringing and as the dust settled around them she knew the damage to her poor house was likely pretty extensive.

Chibs helped her up by the elbows, and she put her hands on his sides to get vertical herself. Before she could stand she felt something wet. Her hand came away from his kutte red.

"Are you hit?" she asked, startled.

He looked down at her hand, then grabbed it. "No Val, you are. Ahh, Christ."

"What?" she struggled to get up but he pinned her down again by the shoulder down with his free hand.

"Stay put," he muttered, pulling her blouse out of her pants and yanking it up.

"Hey -" she began, then saw all the crimson staining the beige fabric of her blouse.

His face was serious. She felt coldness wash over her.

"Is it bad?" she asked, waiting for it to start hurting.

His eyes came up to hers. "Shit, Valerie. Is it right through?"

"I can't feel anything. I-I don't know." Panic came from nowhere. It didn't hurt, but his face was freaking her out. "Shit Chibs - am I dying?"

Thankfully he was all business, which made her feel a slight modicom better. "I'm going to check your back, sweetheart. I'm sorry if this hurts."

With one hand he raised her hip, turning her onto her side. _That _hurt, absolutely. She cried out, her hand clamping onto his and squeezing.

"I'm sorry. I have to see if it's a through-and-through. You can do it. You're plenty tough, love."

She squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenched, feeling him shift around to see her back. It hurt, Christ it hurt so much. She tried to breathe deep, feeling sweat break out on her skin. She was panting but it seemed to help a little bit.

"Okay lass, settle back now." Chibs hands eased her onto her back again, and she had to grit her teeth tighter, whimpering. "I'm sorry. I know it hurts. But it went right through, which is actually good."

She opened her eyes again, hopeful. "Is it?"

"The doctors won't have to go digging anything out of you. I've got to call you an ambulance." His voice stayed confident and calm. Her panic was sliding back to a regular level.

She heard him dialling on his cell phone again. As he was about to give the dispatch her address when she remembered something. She grabbed his wrist as he was reciting her house number.

"Teresa," she reminded him. "Check to make sure Teresa's okay."

He nodded, getting up smoothly and crossing the room. She heard the door open, and she closed her eyes, breathing in through her mouth and out through her nose. It was burning; it was starting to feel like a deep, scalding ache that was only getting worse.

Valerie rose up on her elbows, trying to see her exposed stomach. The shirt was rolled up out of the way, obstructing her view, and that deep red stain was completely distracting. Her head swam and she lowered it back down before she could pass out.

"Valerie, oh my God," the sound of Teresa's voice was so comforting right then. She had to smile as Teresa fell to her knees next to her.

"Teresa, thank fuck you're okay," Valerie mumbled.

"I'm going," Chibs was saying, dropping to a knee next to her. "The cops and ambulance are coming. It's better if I'm not here. Valerie? You with me?"

She just nodded, feeling like she was moving very slowly.

"Teresa, get a couple of towels. Put one under the exit wound, and press another to the top right here. As long as they've not hit any vitals she should heal perfectly."

Chibs' brogue was starting to sound echoey. She tried to find his hand. He found hers first, holding tight and leaning over her. "Stay still, Val. Help is coming, love. Teresa will make sure you're okay."

She nodded, trying to swallow. Her throat seemed so dry. "Why the hell did they shoot at us? They just said they wanted to meet. What was this?"

"I don't know, Val. We'll figure it out after, okay? They didn't shoot at your office at all. Maybe they expected you to be over there. This was just a little warning. For me. Maybe they saw me through the window."

She coughed. "Hell of a warning. They wrecked my shirt."

Chibs laughed, kissing her forehead in a fatherly way. "Just keep making jokes."

"I will." She shuddered as the towel on her stomach pressed harder a bit. "Ow. _Fuck_ that hurts. Honest to Christ I'm going to fucking kill them."

She opened her eyes to see Chibs studying her, slowly moving his head side to side in amazement. "There _is _something wicked in you, Val. Isn't there?"

She didn't like the look on his face. She couldn't read it and didn't have the energy to think about it. When his eyes met hers she was suddenly uncomfortable. "You need to go," she reminded him.

He nodded, waited just a moment, then stood and stepped over her, repeating instructions to Teresa. He reminded her assistant, "I was never here," as he went out the door to the garage where his bike was parked out of view.

When the pipes on the Harley rumbled to life it jolted her and she guessed she might have passed out for a second. Teresa put a hand on her forehead, her palm feeling wonderfully cool.

"I'm glad you're okay, Teresa," she repeated as a whisper.

The pain was working it was up to a raging agony. It was exhausting, and she tried to push away who was doing the _pressing_ on the wound. She knew it was for the best but it was killing her at the same time.

"It's okay, it's okay, Valerie. It's Teresa. The ambulance is coming. Can you hear them?"

Valerie tried. But as she attempted to keep her focus on Teresa's worried face inky blackness started seeping in the corners of her vision and her head felt too light. Teresa stroking her forehead was the last thing she knew before she let go completely and slid under into darkness.


	49. Chapter 49

Time passed like a strange, pain-soaked montage of fleeting images. The ambulance ride hurt. She could remember being taken into an operating room, the bright lights and stark interior so harsh. Then a very quiet, calm observation room where she was woken by the sound of two nurses whispering. Even _they _were quiet here.

Next a brighter room; she was still on her own in this room but equipment around her was beeping softly. Her head was lolling to one side, and from there she could see a stacking chair next to the bed holding up a set of big, black boots. She wanted to cry at that. She wanted it to be Tig, but the disappointment if it wasn't would be too much. She didn't follow the jean-clad legs to a second chair to see who was actually stretched out next to her. She just closed her eyes again, relishing the quiet and the dark.

When she came to fully, well aware of her pain and the state of her body and the firmness of the vinyl-covered mattress underneath her, she was staring at the table next to the bed. She had two flower arrangements. One had so many daisies it couldn't have possibly been from anyone _other _than Teresa. The second one was bright, colourful spring flowers. She could smell them once she recognized what they were.

Valerie brought her head back to twelve o'clock, swallowing uncomfortably. Her mouth felt like she'd been gagged with an ancient sweat sock. She made a face, tried to move her tongue around, all to no result. Her mouth was bone-dry. She started coughing, and someone next to the bed moved. She could hear rustling fabric. At first she was terrified, not recognizing the man in the jeans and T-shirt standing next to her in a 49ers ballcap and a week's worth of stubble. Then, like she was coming awake a second time, she felt herself smile.

"Peter? Is that you?"

Her half-brother smiled, setting down the cup he'd been reaching for and holding arms out to her instead. "Valerie, thank Christ."

Peter Delaney wrapped her up in a hug, holding her so tight she wondered if she was medically cleared for it. But she didn't care. This was an outside person giving her comfort. It felt fantastic, this hug from her only family.

He sat down next to the bed, fussing over the little table and pouring her a glass of water with hands that were shaking. She felt the tears in her eyes, and she noticed his were red and watering as well. He gave her the glass, then watched her like a hawk while she took a few sips.

She set the cup on her stomach to talk. "When did you get here?"

"This morning. About two am. I wasn't even in Oakland, I'd been in Boston on business."

"I'm so sorry -"

"Don't say you're sorry. For what?"

She shook her head. "I fucked up. I fucked a lot up. Big time."

He shook his head. "Nah."

"I did. I think my luck finally ran out."

He laughed at that. "Are you kidding? You're alive right now. Your lucky streak is intact, little girl."

She had to smile at his old term of endearment for her, even as it made her nose tingle. "They know about me here."

He nodded. "Yeah, I gathered that when they finally got hold of me."

She felt a slight flare of worry. "Who? Who called you?"

"Umm, some guy named … Juice?"

She nodded, relieved. "Oh. Okay."

He was letting his eyes trail over her face to gauge her reaction. "Does this, what happened to you, have anything to do with our dear old dad?"

She swallowed again. "More to do with my mom than Dad," she said obtusely.

He nodded. "The Juice kid told me about some stuff, likely more than he should have. He told me about the attack. The … rape. Is _that _related to this?"

Valerie just nodded. "We got them back on that, though. The club helped. Took care of _all _of it, really."

"You should have got hold of me on that one, Val."

"I know. But … I was so scared." She sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"I _said, _don't be sorry. But how did you get mixed up with these guys?"

"Would you believe me if I said I can't tell you that?"

He exhaled loudly. "Christ, Val."

"I know. They helped me when I needed it. Now all I have to do is sit here safe and sound and hope that being Mickey Boyle's daughter is enough to get them more guns to sell."

Peter shook his head. "How could being related to Dad accomplish that?"

Valerie held her hand out, which he took. "I'm relieved I'm not the only one that didn't know."

"Know what?"

"Dad. He was the bastard child of a member of the real IRA."

Peter sank back in his chair, still holding her hand. "What?"

She shrugged. "I don't remember him ever talking about his dad. Do you?"

Peter shook his head. "Never. I assumed he never knew him."

"It has to make sense, right? Who else would have the connections to get my mom an ocean away from her family?"

He looked scared. "What about me?"

She shook her head. "I asked them to leave you out of it. I really hope they only called you because you're my family and I was, as you can see, shot."

Peter took the cup from her as she pushed the blankets down to her hips. She pulled up on the paper gown, slowly revealing the square of white gauze taped to her skin just above and in from her hipbone. She stared at the snow-white bandage, breathing deep and trying to feel the sting of it intensify just from being noticed. It stayed the same: more of a hot tightness than searing pain. "It went right through?"

Peter nodded. "They said you were lucky. It missed all the bone, nicked your appendix so they took it out. Everything else was fine." He leaned in with a bemused smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "See? Still very lucky."

She let the gown fall back down again. "So much shit has happened, Peter."

He crossed his arms, the easiness between them back in place like it hadn't been years since their last visit. "Yeah, I can tell."

"These guys, this club that called you, they're looking out for me. The Russians know where I am. They're coming for me. They've got a gang from Oakland hired to rip shit up around here. That's who shot up my house."

Peter nodded, smoothly. "That's what I thought it might be. The Russians."

"I have an uncle coming for me. There was a man in my office just before the shooting …" she let it trail off. "What day is it?"

"What?"

"What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday. Why?"

She sat up. "On Monday they said he'd be here in three days."

Peter pushed on her shoulder to ease her back. "Take it easy, Val. That's tomorrow. They're in town tomorrow. And I bet they already know you've been shot."

"They'll come here for me," she was starting to sound hysterical, but she couldn't help it.

"Val, you'll pop a stitch. Please, try and stay calm."

He was right, of course. Getting worked up wasn't going to _stop _time and the natural progression of events. But now she couldn't leave town as quickly as she wanted. She was stuck.

Well _shit_.

And she didn't want Peter involved in all this. Yet here he was, called to town by Juice, who was likely being told what to do by Jax. _Shit_. She really was in it now.

"You shouldn't have come, Peter," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"They said you got shot, Val. How in the world was I just going to stay away?" He wasn't hurt or offended by her remark. "And I mean, things are really _tense _in this place. I don't know what's going on, but every time there's a guy with one of those reaper vests on around here I feel like it's time to start running."

She shrugged. She couldn't and didn't want to tell him more than she already had. "I'm sorry, Peter. Where are you staying?"

He sighed. "I'm at a hotel. They booked me a room under some other name."

"Good, that's good."

The room fell quietly comfortable. Until Peter spoke again.

"So Dad was an illegitimate kid?"

She smiled. "Yeah, he was." She could _see _Peter's world shifting, just from how he chewed his thumbnail and stared down at his feet, eyes wide and unblinking. "Watcha thinking, Peter?"

He shook his head, smiling up at her, out of his trance now. He still looked a little bit sad, though. "I just wish I'd known. It would have been something we had in common, you know?"

Valerie managed a sad smile of her own. "I was jealous of _you _sometimes, Peter."

"Why?"

"_You _got to go on weekend fishing trips. Without my mom. Just the two of you."

Peter shook his head. "You got him all the time, Val."

"I know but … short bursts and not always just _us_. Not for _that _long."

They stared at each other. "I never thought you would have anything to be jealous about," Peter mumbled. "But those fishing weekends were pretty awesome. We had soda for breakfast."

Valerie burst out laughing, but it made her stitches hurt and she put her hand to her side, gasping a bit as she chuckled. He was laughing with her, and leaned forward to put his elbows on the side of the bed, taking her hand in his.

"I have to ask this," he said carefully," and I'm sorry to pry. But who's this Tig guy?" At the mere mention of the name she felt her heart twitch, breaking a little bit more, and it must have shown in her face because he squeezed her hand. "Forget I said anything. I'm sorry. We haven't seen each other in a while and … I'm just curious."

"Why? Why would you ask about him? How would you know his name?"

He tilted his head. "Val, he was here when I got here. Nurses said he'd been sleeping in this chair since you were let out of the observation ward. And the way he looked at you before he left to give us some room to visit I just … I had to know."

"What do you mean? How did he look at me?"

Peter gave an embarrassed laugh, taking his hat off and running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "I don't know, Val. Like … like you were his whole world?"

She snorted. "Trust me, that's wasn't the look."

Peter shrugged and put his hat back on. "If you don't want to tell me that's fine -"

"Sorry," she cut in. "I'm sorry, I'm so bitchy lately. Look … he's … someone I care about. A lot. And then I found out some things about other associates of his that led to the attack. He didn't know about it, he was just as surprised as I was. And now he's locking me out. I think … I _hope _he's trying to get me to leave Charming. Either that or he hates me now and I don't know why." She was intentionally vague on all points. She didn't want to focus on Tig for too long. She was already hurting.

Peter waited a minute, then he leaned back in the chair, shrugging. "I don't know the whole story. I likely don't want to. But there's no way he hates you, Val."


	50. Chapter 50

When Peter left to head back to his hotel she had a moment to sit quietly and gather her thoughts. As much as it panicked her to have her brother around, it was so nice to just have that unconditional love that only comes from family. He would never lie to her. He would make her see things she was intentionally overlooking. And he would always make sure she knew how much he cared about her. Again, it was a taste of normalcy. She felt appreciative the club had brought him here, and hoped like hell it wouldn't get him hurt.

While alone, she pulled up her paper hospital johhny and looked at that bandage again. She couldn't help herself. She peeled up the tape carefully and then lifted the gauze, peering at her very first gunshot wound while holding her breath. It was an angry-looking red wound, stitched up with black thread, the area around the open flesh surprisingly normal-looking. It looked like it had pulled the tail from her dragon tattoo out of whack a bit, but maybe once the stitches were out it wouldn't be so obvious.

_Yes Val,_ she chastised herself in the third-person. _That fucking tattoo is your biggest worry right now._

She slid her right hand around her side, and she could feel the tape and gauze on her back as well. Yep, through-and-through. Lucky her.

She nearly laughed at that thought. She _had _been feeling sorry for herself, all that bullshit about her lucky running out eventually, like she'd been on borrowed time since she decided she could kill a group of men all on her own. She must have been on _stroke of luck number 1,457_ by now. She was still here, after all. Peter was right.

The door opened, and as she looked up, tapping the tape back into place against her skin, she wasn't sure who she had been expecting, but it wasn't Tig.

Her hand froze where it was. Her brain stalled. Jesus, just seeing him right then was enough to shut her down. Her chest ached. Her hands itched with the need to hit him. Punch him. Hold him.

He stayed in the doorway, holding it open, leaning in on the jamb like he was worried she would throw him out if he committed to actually entering the room.

She hated the fact that the sight of him also inexplicably calmed her. That having him there made her body relax, and at the same time as she met those blue eyes head on she felt that same damn flicker of heat he'd always brought out in her. She felt safer and more comfortable and excited and furious all at once. She didn't know which one would eventually win out.

Valerie burst into tears, not sure if it was the result of the pain or her anger or humiliation. She covered her face with both hands, glad that at least she wasn't hysterically bawling her eyes out. _Lightly_ weeping, if there was such a thing.

The mattress gave way as he perched on the edge next to her, nowhere near touching her. The smell of leather hit her and she forced herself to breathe through her mouth to avoid it.

"Val?"

She took a long shuddering breath. Just her name hurt.

"Are you okay?"

Anger won out at that question. She brought her hands down. "No, I'm not. I got shot. Wanna see?" she wouldn't look at him. She stared at her hands, linked across her stomach, likely pouting like a three year old.

He inhaled, looking away and wiping a hand down his face. He clearly felt like shit. Good. The thought made her feel a little bit better.

"I'll find 'em, Val. I promise."

"I know. Then you'll kill them. And then you'll go back to the clubhouse to fuck a few whores."

He got up so abruptly she jumped. The venom in her tone was a bit surprising to her as well, but once she started she couldn't stop talking.

"I don't know why you bothered to be here. I don't know what I did to bring you round. But you'll have to forgive me if I hate the very sight of you right now," she spat out at his back. It was easier when she couldn't see his eyes. "And I don't know what I did to drive you away, either. But you have no right to be fucking mad at _me _Tig. I'm the only one allowed to be mad right now."

Jesus, she sounded like a thirteen year old. But the verbal diarrhea stopped as soon as he spun around on her. In two long strides he was leaning over her, one hand on the bed next to her, the other on the upraised pillow next to her head.

It was his face that stopped her cold. She hadn't seen this pain from him in a little while. His eyes were red, full, and his mouth shook when he talked. "You're right. You should be mad. You should hate all of us. But especially me, Val. Hate me with everything you've got."

Her face crumpled up. "Why? What did I do?"

"Nothing. But if you're mad and you hate me enough you'll leave. As soon as you can. Get the hell out of Charming and go somewhere that no one would think to look for you. I'm begging you, Val."

"Why don't you want me here?"

He shook his head. "You're smarter than that, Val. If I let you care about me enough you'd never leave. You're tough enough for it and you're crazy enough to put up with me." He brought his face closer. "I will get you killed. I believed for a second I wouldn't . Then we find out why all that shit happened and it _is _my fault. I can't have you dying on my account. So get the fuck out of Charming."

"It wasn't you, it was Gemma -"

"It was for the club, Val. And that means it was because of _me_."

She wasn't crying. Sure the tears were still running down her face and dropping off her chin, but the _sobbing _part was done. He was showing her his worry, the ruin it would cause him if she got hurt even worse. Again. He was trying to run her off, just like Chibs said.

"Why'd you have to do that? Why'd you have to go sleep with someone else?"

He straightened up, and the air rushing between them cleared her head a bit.

"I was hoping what I did that night would scare you. Because that's how I usually fuck, Val. You weren't supposed to like it."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"I didn't expect you to like it. It freaked me out. I admit it."

"Jesus Christ -"

"And what you said that day, after I killed that guy right in front of you …" he let that trail off. "Don't have those feelings for me, please."

Yeah, she freaked him out with the L-word. She knew it.

"It's still my choice, Tig," she said quietly.

"I know that, babe. I know," he sat next to her again, taking her hand in his. "Can you just for one second see my point of view?"

He was right, of course. Adults were supposed to do that; try to see where the other party was coming from. But all she felt was the hurt, the embarrassment, and the thrill that came with him touching her again. Maybe if she could get over the physical infatuation she'd be okay.

She looked into his eyes and called bullshit on that. She wasn't just attracted to him. She was falling in love with him. And when his eyes met hers, his fingers playing over the back of her hand, the way he just simply sighed and realized he wasn't getting through, she knew he did feel the same. No matter what else he might be doing with his time.

"I'll stay away from you," she promised, making him nod. "I'll leave when I can. But stop trying to hurt me. You're breaking my fucking heart."

"Val," he said soothingly, gathering her up carefully and hugging her. She hung on to the edges of his kutte, head nestling along his neck and under his chin. She couldn't help herself. She breathed in deep, smelling him and holding the scent in for as long as she could. "Christ, you really got under my skin."

"Like a tic?" came her wry reply.

He chuckled, chest shaking against her. "Exactly like a tic. Yes."

"Why am I always the one that ends up bleeding?" she joked after a moment. "When's it your turn to get hurt?"

"I got a paper cut on an invoice at TM the other day."

"Good," she muttered, smiling in spite of her earlier outburst. He didn't let go of her. "I liked having you around, Tig," she admitted, and he rubbed her back. "I really did. I want you to know that."

"And I liked having you around, Val. You're more than I ever deserved."

He held her for a little while longer, but then she had to ease away because she could feel her bodily damage kicking up a fuss. He put a hand over where the bandage was, and his face told her everything she needed to know. It was killing him not being around her, too.

She felt like a bitch for it, but that little revelation made her feel _much_ better. She met his eyes again, inwardly sighing. Life really sucked. Yeah, she could be dead three or four times over right now. But not being with him? It was like a whole new level of hell.

He surprised her by leaning in and kissing her. It was that painfully perfect kiss, lips moving slowly over hers with an agonizingly small amount pressure. The kind of kiss that made _her _the one that leaned in more, putting her hand on the back of his neck to draw him closer, trying to coerce him into kissing her like a house on fire. Which he didn't. Yes, he let her pull him closer but no matter how she bit his lip or darted her tongue out to run along his mouth he kept up that slow dragging motion.

As far as a tease went it was pretty bloody perfect.

He parted lips from hers, taking her hand off the back of his neck and holding it to his chest. "I'm going to sit in that chair over there until they release you," he informed her.

"Okay," she was breathless, but at least he was, too.

"Then I'm going to take you somewhere secure. Then we're going to meet this uncle of yours tomorrow. On _our _terms, though. You're hurt. He'll understand, I'm sure."

She swallowed and just nodded this time.

He sat next to her again, drawing her legs up to his side, wrapping his arm around them and resting his head on top of her right knee. It was such a peculiar thing to do it made her smile in spite of … _everything_.

"Are you hurting?"

"A little bit. Not too much."

A long, comfortable pause followed while he held her hand and they just started at each other like they were memorizing one another, although she hoped he'd remember her at a more flattering point of their relationship rather than what she looked like after being shot and unconscious for a day in the hospital.

"Is it going to kill you to be away from me?" she asked finally.

He nodded. "Already dying, Val."


	51. Chapter 51

By three-thirty the hospital was releasing her with a bottle of antibiotics and shopping list for what she'd need to keep the bullet wounds clean and dressed. Any sign of infection and she was to head right back to emergency.

Valerie had been shot through-and-through, she was an appendix lighter now, and the pharmacist was getting to know her on a first-name basis. It was all disconcerting in its own way.

Tig had been to her house and collected flannel pants and a sweatshirt for her. Roomy and perfect, if not a bit warm for the weather. At least she was comfortable. When the nurse rolled her out to the sidewalk in a wheelchair Tig insisted on picking her up and carrying her to the passenger seat, which the nurse found both endearing and amusing. It probably did look odd.

She buckled up as he started the motor. "I'll take you to your place to pack a bag. Your brother's at the Motel 6 off the highway. We got you a room there, too. We can watch over both of you that way. We're stretched a little thin right now."

"I'm sorry," she said immediately.

He looked annoyed. "Why be sorry? It's the Irish. We're calling in whoever we can get from the nomad charter to help us out when the IRA's in town." His tone became playful. "It's not all about you, Val. We've got other shit going on too, you know."

She had to chuckle at that. "You're right. I know. I'm not the centre of the universe."

He grinned at her and tore out of the hospital parking lot. At her house he completed ignored the Police Line-Do Not Cross warning tape and unlocked the door for her.

Valerie surveyed her living room. The lines of gunshot damage across her walls were surprising to see. Her windows were boarded over so the place felt closed in and oppressive. Foreign, not like home at all.

As she toddled stiffly down the hallway Tig held her elbow, hovering over her like she was a child learning to walk.

"I've got a bag in the top of that closet," she said, pointing and making her way to her dresser. He brought it to her, dropping it open on the furniture in front of her. She was grabbing a handful of cotton underwear and he stopped her.

"Wait. Why not these ones?" he pulled up a pair of red lace boy shorts.

She shoved them back in the drawer. "Because those are made to come off within an hour of being put on. They are not made for convalescing, waiting for a bullet wound to heal."

He pulled her back against him, dropping his mouth down close to her ear. "If you want to be comfortable just stay naked."

She smiled, feeling the warmth travel up her neck and into her cheeks. "You are so bad at breaking up with someone."

"The smart ones are supposed to walk away from _me_, Val."

She looked up at him in the dresser mirror. He was serious even though he was giving her a small smile that could have meant _anything_. She turned around, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him as tight as she dared. He didn't question it, he hugged her back.

This was going to be the longest good-bye of her life.

He pulled back and kissed her again all in one fluid movement. Again, there was no hesitation on her part, no stopping to realize this wasn't a good idea. She met his lips with hers, tilting her head and opening wider for his tongue, which teased a moan from her. His hands tightened around the centre of her back. When she tried to stretch up to wrap her arms around the back of his neck her stitches pulled and she gasped, drawing away from his mouth. Her hand went to the spot that hurt, on her back, but his was already there.

"Go lay down," he said softly. "Tell me what to pack."

She blinked back a few tears that came out of nowhere, then nodded. Valerie sank down onto her familiar mattress, stretching her legs out in front of her and propping herself up against the headboard. She directed him through all the cupboards and dresser drawers until the bag was full and she had enough packed for about a weeks' stay. The way he handled her things was almost too dear to bear.

"Okay babe, let's go," he instructed, clearly unaware that everything he was doing was completely killing her.

She sat up, swung her legs around to the side of the bed and he helped her stand again. He got her and her things loaded into the van, then they made their way all the way across Charming, out of the town limits and to the Motel 6 off the highway east of town. There were all of three vehicles in the parking lot and two Harley Davidson motorcycles.

Tig lifted her down again from the high van seat. "We've got you second level at the end, so we can see the walkway. You think you can make it up the stairs?"

She nodded. "If you'll carry the bag I'll drag my own sorry ass up there."

And she tried, she really did. But the stairs were absolute torture, the way her stitches pulled and strained had her sweating and hoping she wasn't bleeding. Tig stopped her, scooped her up again and carried her the rest of the way with a chastising, "We don't have time for you to prove how tough you are, Val."

He set her down outside the door like it was all part of his job, and she knocked. Juice answered the door and the smile on his face was enough to make her break out in a grin as well.

"Val," he said, so happy and obviously relieved she was okay. He wrapped her up in an enthusiastic hug that she had to ease out of, her stitches wondering what the hell was going on. Tig was also pegging him with a hard stare.

"Little too enthusiastic, Juice," he snapped.

"It's fine," she insisted.

"I'm just glad she's okay," Juice insisted, earning him a smack across the back of the head.

"Valerie," the other man in the room greeted her, rising up from the armchair in the corner. She smiled back at Chibs as he hugged her more carefully. "Good to see you, love."

She backed out from under his arms. "You took off on me."

He made a wounded face. "I called the ambulance for you. Made sure your little blonde friend was there to take care of you."

Right then Peter entered through the connecting door to the next room, and he too had to hug her and tell her he was glad she was out of the hospital.

"Okay everyone," Tig announced loudly. "Get the hell out. Let her get some quiet."

"I'm okay," she told him, lowering her voice.

"Nope. You've got to rest," his eyes widened to show he was serious. "Big day tomorrow, remember?"

Chibs patted her shoulder. "Take 'er easy, Val."

She nodded as everyone filed through the connecting door to what she assumed was Peter's room. Tig shut the door behind Juice, dropping her bag on the dresser.

"You want to sleep or shower?" he asked.

"Shower," she answered immediately.

He went into the bathroom and started the water for her. She followed him, watching him test the temperature before turning on the showerhead. She was smiling, she could feel it. It had been involuntary.

"What is it?" he asked, barely looking at her, dropping a clean and folded towel onto the closed toilet seat, within reaching distance.

"I'm just remembering the first time I met you. You're a completely different person than what I thought you were."

He shrugged. "Not likely. There's just so many _sides _to this," he said, circling his face with his finger.

It made her laugh.

"Now get in the shower. I'd offer to help you but … I'd just make a bigger mess of you."

She smacked his arm as he walked past her, then shut herself inside the bathroom. She pulled off the sweatshirt by pulling her arms through the sleeves rather than over her head. She carefully picked off the surgical tape from her back injury first. This one was nowhere near the tattoo. It looked exactly like the front wound, actually.

The tape came off her stomach easier. She lamented that the edge of the puckered skin seemed to be messing with the dragon's tail again, then decided to focus on what was important.

She was still, somehow, alive.

Once in the shower all she could do was stand under the spray, feeling that days-old showerless sheen wash away from her hair and body. No soap needed, she felt better just like this. When her skin was pink she turned off the taps and wrapped herself up in her towel, checking to make sure she hadn't opened any large tears in her skin. Good news: no blood.

Wrapping herself in a fluffy hotel towel that smelled a bit like bleach, Valerie opened the bathroom door then headed for the plastic bag on the bed that held all the stuff she'd picked up at the pharmacy. Tig was sitting in a chair crammed between the bed and the window, foot up on the edge of the mattress, eyes starting out at the walkway. Always on duty, that one.

"Can you help me bandage this up?" she asked, pulling out the tape, gauze and scissors.

"Sure," he replied easily. He watched her cut the gauze and make the squares like the ones she'd taken off in the bathroom, then she handed him the tape and scissors.

"Be warned," she mumbled "I'm naked," just before dropping the towel.

He hissed and drew in his breath, but he behaved himself as she spread the towel on the bed then stretched out on her stomach. It was the back she couldn't get on her own.

His hands were unbelievably gentle and careful as he tacked the gauze into place. He smoothed the tape out with his fingers, letting them move a little father down her back to trace circles on her ass.

"Tig," she warned, but he didn't stop, and she didn't move a muscle to get away. He kissed her between her shoulder blades, his hand flattening out and smoothing along her hip, along the bottom of each cheek. Her eyes slid closed, her heart sped up. "Tig," this time it was a whisper.

"Val," he mimicked her, his breath tickling her skin. She felt the goosebumps break out, her eyes sliding closed at the paper-light tough of those hot and rough fingers. His hand slid down between her legs, and without her brain being part of the decision she shifted her legs apart to make room. "Oh Val," he groaned, plunging two fingers inside her.

She gasped, biting the towel as his hand moved against her, those two digits scrambling her mind, bringing out small muffled moans. He continued to kiss her back, the contradiction between those sweet, controlled kisses and the incredibly naughty things his hand was doing likely causing the orgasm to happen quickly. It was a small one, lovely, a gradual release of pleasure that made her tremble head to foot.

"You're incorrigible," she muttered when she could talk.

He chuckled, removing his hand and sitting up. "Now let's do the front," he suggested.

She had to giggle as there was a knock at the connecting door.

"Go away," Tig snapped, trying to not-so-forcefully roll her onto her back as she struggled, trying not to laugh too loud or pull out her stitches.

"Tig, Jax is on the phone. He wants to talk to you," came the Scottish brogue through the closed door.

He finally had her rolled over and was staring down at her with such disappointment. She had to smile up at him. "You should take that phone call," she recommended.

He yanked the comforter out from under her and threw it over her nakedness. "You should stay like that until I'm done, woman," he growled, kissing her before getting up and stalking to the door.

She stayed where she was while he opened the door and grabbed the cell from Chibs. The conversation was one-sided, Tig only throwing in a few mono-syllabic responses to agree with what his president was saying. Then he snapped the phone shut, handed it to the Scot and shut the door in his face.

His expression when he turned back to her was far too serious and she sat up. "What is it?"

He shook his head. "When it rains it pours."

"What do you mean?"

"The IRA. They'll be here tomorrow around noon."


	52. Chapter 52

Thank God for Jax's phone call. It reminded her she was in danger. It reminded Tig he was trying to get rid of her, not make up for his transgressions. She'd pulled on jersey shorts and a T-shirt immediately, and Tig had gone cold-stare on the walkway again, soldier on guard again.

She lay awake on her side, watching him. He seemed unaware of her surveillance. His eyes darted around, back and forth, not so much as nodding off even as the sky became darker and the parking lot remained thankfully silent.

She fell asleep eventually, but it wasn't a sleep worth the effort. After all, Russian mobsters and IRA descending on Charming on the same day was probably going to be a bigger disaster than it _sounded_. Sleeping was something she gained only because she was too weak to constantly fight it.

When the sun _did _come up and she rolled onto her back, Tig was right where she'd last seen him. It didn't even look as though he'd moved, but when she yawned he sat up, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Good morning," she said sleepily.

"Morning," he returned gruffly. "Did you get enough sleep?"

"More than you," she guessed.

"I'm sorry. For what I did last night I … shouldn't have touched you like that."

She just stared at him quietly. "I didn't fight you off, Tig."

"No but … I'm sorry."

She sighed. "Don't worry about it."

"It's just becoming apparent that you're going to have to be the one to walk away. Because I'm incapable of letting you go."

The statement stunned her. Not only for its poetic resonance but from the way he said it, so plainly, not wanting to start an argument, just stating a fact that seemed to surprise him.

"Don't feel bad," she said, trying to joke him out of it. "I'm irresistible."

He smiled at that. "Oh, trust me, I know," then he winked at her and rose to his full height. "I'm going to shower. You'll be okay?"

"Open the door to the next room. I'm sure I'll be fine."

He nodded, pushing through the room's connecting door. Her brother's room was open, and she could see that both beds were occupied. Chibs was sitting with his back to the wall, facing her room.

Tig quietly convo'd with the other Son, making him nod and peer around the corner at her. She raised a hand in a wave which he returned.

Then Tig came back to her bedside, leaning over. "Stay in bed and relax," he instructed softly, planting one of those could-mean-anything kisses on top of her head.

She nodded up at him and he was convinced. Then she watched him walk into the bathroom, throwing that maniacal smile at her before he shut the door.

The atmosphere of the room seemed strange. It felt like a _big _day, but in a scary, not exciting way. She had family coming to town, half of which might want to kill her after assuming she was dead for years, and the other half just found out she even existed.

She looked down the length of the bed, noticing Chibs staring at her from the other room, a sad smile on his face. She frowned, struggling to sit up without hurting herself. "What?" she whispered.

He just shrugged. She motioned him over with a finger, and he came when beckoned.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine. You look worried."

He raised his eyebrows. "I am. Aren't you?"

She nodded. "Of course."

He squatted on his heels next to the bed, jerking his head in the direction of the washroom. "Are we all made up and okay again?"

She shook her head. "No. He wants me to leave."

Chibs nodded. "I remember a very wise man telling you that."

She feigned confusion. "I thought it was _you _that said that."

"Smart ass."

They shared a smile, then he patted her shoulder. "Save your strength, Val."

"Okay," she agreed as he returned to his chair, head resting against the wall, eyes falling closed.

She settled back into her pillows, closing her eyes and just enjoying the quiet of the morning. Trying to focus on the positives, like Peter said. She was alive. She was still … breathing.

"Val, honey?"

She opened her eyes, realizing she'd dozed off again. Tig was standing over her, shirtless in jeans, his hair wet.

"I'm done in the shower. You want to take a turn?"

She nodded, covering a yawn. "Yeah. I need to look my best today, don't I?"

"You'll always be gorgeous Val," he assured her, leaning over and kissing her forehead.

She frowned up at him as he stood. "Wait – did you use my shampoo?" She'd brought hers from home. Hotel shampoos were never agreeable with her hair.

"I like how it smells," he said, all _no big deal_ about it, turning away from her and shrugging into his button-down.

She was only fifty percent sure he was fucking with her now, because this was all going to be too much if he kept it up.

She shoved the blankets off of herself, holding a hand over her front injury as she stood up. Still so strange to think that a foreign object had travelled right through her skin and meat. How odd.

"You all right, babe?" he asked, fastening his shirt.

She nodded. "I'm good. It seems like it should be hurting more."

He reached down to her nightstand and grabbed the pain killer bottle. "Now that you've thought about it, it'll hurt."

"Probably."

"_Definitely_," he corrected, tossing the pills to her. She caught them against her chest.

"You want help with the bandages?"

She shook her head. "They're easier to take off than put on."

He walked up to her, grasping the hem of her shirt. "May I?"

Her throat tightened up as she gazed up at his eyes, noting they were not particularly interested in her. Or so it seemed. The eye contact was deep and meaningful. It made her pulse increase.

Valerie's entire being wanted him to kiss her, but her mind was screaming at her to back off and get away from him. Time passed, and no answer counted for a yes, apparently. He was about to pull up on her shirt when a throat cleared behind him.

The door to the adjoining room was still open, and Chibs was sitting there watching with a bemused expression.

Tig slammed the door shut, then strode back to her and pulled the camisole off over her head with standard "Tig confidence." She turned around and he worked the tape off her skin again while she picked at the tape on her stomach. When he had the bandage off he let one finger trail up her back in what seemed an absent manner. Her skin betrayed her, breaking out in gooseflesh even as her chest and neck flushed, her nipples hardening.

She was humiliated somewhat that she almost had no control over herself when it came to him. Her affection for him seemed separate from it. She had found sex with Tig effortless and comfortably amazing. In her entire life she'd never known such liberation with herself. It was like he made it okay for her to feel free in that way.

The thought of him would likely always make her feel warm like this.

She stepped away from his hand. "Thank you," she said, not looking back, walking topless to the washroom. She had one slightly triumphant moment turning around to shut the door. Tig was starting at her, eyes piercing and so bright with want for her she considered walking back to him and letting him take her to bed. After a moment of shared eye contact she shut the door on him, locking herself in the trapped humidity of the washroom.

The water cleared her mind. Taking the time to do her hair best she could with the limited accoutrements of a motel washroom put space between her mindset and Tig.

She brought her bandages and supplies out of the washroom, wrapped in a towel with her hair piled up on her head, still damp but arranged how it was going to be for the day. The adjoining door was open again, which gave her pause. Tig was standing at the window, opening the blinds to check the parking lot.

"I need your help again," she said thinly. He turned back, seeing her in a towel.

His sly smile was slow in developing. "Are you dropping that towel again?"

"Are you shutting the door?"

He didn't answer. He just kept grinning at her.

"Come here and tape me up, Tig."

He waited a minute, then did as asked. She turned to the dresser and loosened the towel enough that it draped down her back enough to show the exit wound. He tacked the square of gauze in place decently, kissing her shoulder when he was done.

She returned to the bathroom to do the front herself, shutting herself in again without giving him another glance. She taped up the second injury, glad to see that the skin was not puffing up and turning red.

Back in the room she got her outfit ready, a simple long, draping sundress in a blue/green pattern. It was gathered under the chest which meant it was loose over her abdomen, perfect for someone healing from being shot in the side.

She had to admit she looked not half-bad. She touched up some eye make-up in the dresser mirror, hearing a throat clear in the doorway. Peter was leaning against the jamb, smiling at her.

"That's a pretty frock, sis."

"Thanks, Peter."

"It's nice, honestly."

She shrugged, reaching in her bag and pulling out a thigh holster. Now Peter's eyes got bigger. "Val, what the hell -"

"Hence the ankle-length dress, Peter." She hiked the skirt up and fastened the leather in space. "You know where I'm going, right?"

"But they'll search you."

"And that's fine. But in the meantime I want to be armed." She pulled her mother's Makarov out next.

"Where the hell did you find one of those?" he asked.

"This? This was Mom's."

"You were in witness protection and carrying one of those around all this time? I mean, I don't think they're that common." Peter paused for a moment, then added absently, "That's it."

She frowned. "What?"

He jumped though he forgot she was even there. "That's it, Val. I bet that's how that Evanko asshole found you. He found that thing and got suspicious."

They shared eye contact. "I've kept it hidden," she said absently. "I never thought anyone would have a reason to look into it."

Peter looked back to the handgun with its star inset in the grip. "Shit, Val. You shouldn't have kept it. You should have let it disappear."


	53. Chapter 53

When they returned to her house Chibs and Juice did a sweep of the inside while Tig stood on the sidewalk. His Dyna was parked across her driveway, the van on the street in front of her home.

No one let her out of the van until Juice returned and said everything looked untouched. Then Tig helped her out of the passenger side and walked behind her to the house, right on her heels. If she'd ever felt like a _very important person_ before it had _nothing _on this treatment.

There had been no way to get hold of the Popovs, of course. So it was decided to come here to wait for her noon-hour pick up, Jax allowing her three most trusted guys in the group to see her back here. But he wanted Tig for the meeting with the Irish, so this was strictly transport security for him.

Valerie still didn't think they'd just cap her right off the bat. And insisting that someone come with her was making her incredibly nervous about the meeting. She really didn't think they'd negotiate, and she was so worried they would actually kill the clueless Yvette she kept insisting that she go alone.

No dice. Even _Jax_ was insisting a Son accompany her, and he wanted it to be Chibs.

"Okay. I gotta head back," Tig announced once they were safely inside with the door closed.

"Be careful," she said automatically, earning her that insane smile.

"_You're _the one that needs to be careful," he reminded her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He raised a finger at Chibs and Juice. "Keep her safe."

"Of course," Chibs returned, holding up a fist. Instead of a knuckle-pound they did the hand-clasp side-hug thing that men did from time to time. It made her more nervous; until she saw that she knew this was all dangerous. Now it felt _holy shit this stupid _-kind of dangerous.

When Tig was gone out the front door again and the sound of his bike roaring off faded, she asked if anyone wanted tea. They were still twenty-five minutes from pick-up time.

"I'll get it," Chibs said, steering her by her shoulders to sit on the sofa. "Relax."

The house was so dark with all the windows boarded up. The patio door was the biggest thing she missed: it had always let in so much sunlight. Juice was watching her face and he smiled, also appearing a bit nervous.

"We'll get those fixed eventually," he said. "We've just been busy."

She smiled back at him. "I can get my own windows fixed, it's okay. Thank you for boarding up the place, though."

He shrugged to show it was no big deal.

Chibs came into the living room to hand her a yellow Post-It, muttering "You've got a good girl there," while moving to sit on the other end of her couch.

A note, from Teresa. _A guy named Jax called, told me to cancel your appointments for the week. So I did. Sorry I didn't visit you in the hospital but your door was kind of guarded. Hope you're feeling better._

She had to smile, then she realized she was as good as out of business now. With all her cancellations, her attack, and now a shooting at the office no one in their right mind would want to see her.

Like it mattered. She was planning to get the hell out of Charming anyway. She had no idea how she was going to pay Teresa a decent severance. And she had to sell this place besides.

_Focus_, she reminded herself. _You're about to meet some Russian gangsters. That's what you should be thinking about_.

The kettle screamed, making everyone jump. Chibs laughed, getting to his feet again. "Christ, we're all long-tailed cats in a room full of rockers, aren't we?"

He served them all huge, steaming mugs of tea, which was strangely soothing even though it was developing into a very warm day. No one said a word. As a group they's apparently wordlessly decided that silence was the way to wait.

Anything would have been welcome as a distraction. However, she couldn't tolerate the sound of a television right then, and both men were clearly getting into a pre-determined mindset.

Her side was throbbing dully, but she didn't want to take any more meds than she already had. You didn't want to be slow and dopey around these guys.

As soon as the sound of a car stopping out front could be heard, her pain stopped. Her nerves smoothed out. A cold resilience ran down her back, and when she shared a look with Chibs he nodded.

She got up, set down her mug and crossed to the foyer. Both men flanked her. She opened the door and there stood Yvette, pretty as a picture, looking like a porn star limo driver.

She blinked at Valerie, then at the two men, head titling. She clearly recognized this as not being part of the deal.

Chibs handed Valerie a pre-paid cell. She held it out for the woman, saying calmly, "_Nazyvat' yego_." _Call him. _

Apparently her Russian was still passable. The woman took the phone, punched in numbers, then handed it back to Valerie. She brought it up to her ear.

It rang twice before a man's voice greeted her. "I do not know this number." It was very deep, big-sounding, with a thick Russian accent. Still completely understandable, though.

"It's Natalia Boyle," she returned, sounding pretty damn calm.

"Of course it is. Is there a problem, Miss Boyle?"

"Well, I was prepared to have this meeting as planned. But then after your messenger left on Monday some people shot at my house. I took a round myself. So I'm not feeling well-protected coming to see you with just Yvette for protection."

"And what is your proposal?"

"I bring one of my guys with me. You can strip him of weapons once we get there, but until I'm there he's protecting me."

"And who's protecting Yvette from him?"

"You were going to kill her anyway," she reminded him, making him chuckle.

"You have a point. All right, bring one of your friends. Will it be the kid or the old guy?"

She frowned, casting her eyes up and down the block as much as she could. "You can see my house from there?"

"I have another set of eyes on you."

She inhaled, catching Chibs' eye. "It'll be the old guy," she answered.

He raised an eyebrow at that and it would have made her laugh under drastically different circumstances.

"Okay then. But only him, and we search when you get here. _Do svidaniya_."

"Goodbye," she replied in kind, ending the call. Then she gave Chibs back the phone and looked Yvette in the eye. "_On so mnoy,_" she told Yvette, jerking a thumb at Chibs. _He's with me._

Yvette shrugged and turned back to the car in the driveway. It was the black Lincoln Town Car that she and that intimidating messenger had driven to her house before. Yvette even opened the back door for them.

Valerie climbed in carefully, sliding across the seat as Chibs followed. He kept flexing and relaxing his hand. It was bringing her nerves back.

"There's someone else watching," she told him once Yvette shut the door. "They knew the two of you were in the house with me."

"So what's Juice if _I'm _the old guy?" he whispered back, his eyes twinkling. She had to give a small laugh, it helped relieve some tension.

"He's the kid," she answered before her smile abruptly faded. "Fuck, Chibs, I'm scared."

"Me too. We're in this together, Val." His hand found hers on the seat, gave it a comforting squeeze.

He held her hand like that until Yvette manoeuvred the Town Car to a parking spot on a side street off Main, in front of a Chinese restaurant Valerie had always assumed was closed.

Yvette opened the door again allowing Chibs to climb out first. The Scott then held a hand back to Val to help her crawl across the seat and then stand on the hot pavement next to him. It pulled the stitches in her back to climb out of such a low vehicle but she was pretty sure nothing major was affected.

Yvette swung her head to the building and stood on the sidewalk next to the car, her work clearly done. Chibs led the way to the door, yanking it open and not ushering her inside first. He led the way into the dim interior, passing what looked like it was once the hostess desk of a restaurant and entering a cavernous room that might have been lovely once. Now it smelled like damp carpet, dust and mildew, and any sunshine flooding through boarded-up windows was interrupted by thick dust particles.

There was no furniture outside of one table and two chairs. A floodlight was set up to light the area of this curious furniture arrangement. The table was set complete with linens. A man had planted himself at the table, overweight and wrapped in a very expensive-looking suit.

Suddenly Valerie wanted to burst out laughing. This was so ludicrous and stereotypical it bordered on being comical. He had a bottle of vodka on the table, two shot glasses, and a bowl of something that was likely pickled herring.

For fuck's sake, he may as well have been wearing a Red Army uniform as well.

The man's eyes travelled over her face, softening slightly as he smiled. "I can see her in you – your _mamulya_. You have her eyes."

Valerie just nodded. He wasn't scary, which meant she should have been terrified.

"I've been told that," she answered when the room got quiet again.

There was another long and uncomfortable silence. He raised a hand, motioning someone forward. Like a freaking ninja a man stepped out of the shadows behind this comic book character, dressed all in black, and circled around behind Chibs.

He was more in on the drill than she was. Chibs raised his arms out to the side and the man patted him down, removing the Beretta from his waistband and setting it on the table. Next he moved behind Valerie.

She knew her holster was obvious. She raised her arms, and his hands sliding down her sides made her skin shrivel and Valerie knew she twitched. The man at the table watched this with interest. She kept her eyes on his face.

The bodyguard found the holster, then worked the fabric of her sun dress up to remove the Makarov. He held it up for his boss to see before setting it down on the table, too. He gave her an all-too-obvious up and down glance as he passed in front of her; it was almost as bad as his hands on her.

The man at the table picked up the Makarov. "Now _this _is a strange gun for an American collector to have. Look at this. People find you with this and you're in jail for being a Communist."

She smiled. "It's a good gun."

"I know it is," he said, setting it down again. "Maybe not the best memento to take from your mother, though."

She swallowed. Peter had called it.

"I know you're hurt," the man continued, leaning forward so she could see his dark eyes in the light coming from the halogen bulbs. He held a hand towards the other chair. "Please, sit."


	54. Chapter 54

No point in arguing. She sat at the table, hands in her lap, posture perfect. A bead of sweat ran down her back. Still, she was remarkably reserved all things considered.

"I admit. I was mostly just curious to see you."

Valerie shrugged. "All of this was unnecessary then. You know where I live."

His eyes flicked up to Chibs. "Your affiliations make that uncomfortable."

"You also have to understand that the last time I saw anyone from my mother's family they were killing my family and raping my sister."

He nodded. "I know. I'm sorry for my father's reaction to your mother stealing his money and running off with your father. It was … extreme."

Ah, so this was her uncle then. He looked young, but plenty of men were well-preserved when they came from money. He gave her a very bright and neon-white smile.

"You look like our mother a lot, actually. It's uncanny. I bet you look nothing like your father; there's too much of my family here."

She had no idea what to do. So she just sat there while he looked at her.

When it got too uncomfortable she had to say something. "Is there something you want? Is there a reason you brought me here?"

"You mean, am I going to kill you? No." He shook his head and sniffed. "I don't think so. It's just curious that you survived. I wanted to see you myself."

She didn't relax. Not with the big bodyguard standing at attention, hands clasped at his stomach, his entire boy taught as a piano wire.

She risked a glance back at Chibs. He looked exactly the same, and the two men were staring at each other.

She turned back to her uncle. "Then what's your name? I didn't know Mom's family. She never spoke of any of you."

He looked a bit surprised then smiled. "I am Ivan. Your mother's youngest brother. Also, the last living sibling of my seven brothers and sisters."

She nodded.

"I am also prepared to take you with me if you like. I can make sure you're safe in Russia, well looked after. I have many friends who would love an American bride."

She frowned. "Oh. Well, ummm … that's a very kind offer. But … I'm quite fine here."

He shrugged. "Very well."

She leaned forward. "This is making me uncomfortable," she admitted.

"What is?"

"You acted on a tip from a man who assaulted me, came all this way, paid gang members to shoot at my house _and _the garage where my _friends_ work, go through all this cloak-and-dagger meet and greet bullshit, and all you want to do is offer me the life of a Russian mob princess?"

He held up a finger. "I did not hire these gang members to shoot anyone. That was the work of this Luka Evanko idiot, I am sure. And he likely only wanted them to get those bikers out of the way to talk to you." He raised an eyebrow when she looked surprised. "Oh yes, I know about this. I have been in contact with this president of these … what is it, _Bastards_? He was quite quick to tell us the deal when we offered him a nice peace offering of AKs." He shrugged. "It was a good price to pay for some local intelligence. That's also why I know they shot up your house because they're quite displeased with the _Sons of Anarchy_ right now. Your house was just … a message to them."

"That's quite a coincidence."

"The price of good business. I wanted to be left alone while I was here, too. Hence the _cloak and dagger _as you call it. It was opportunistic of them to follow up a visit of my friend with an assault on your home. And I'm quite angry you were hurt, to be honest. I might have to go and take the guns back." His eyes cast up to Chibs. "I know your club could be running low on inventory. Would they be interested in a supplier?"

Chibs shrugged. "Not my call. But if you have a business card I could pass along to my boss -"

"Don't disrespect," the _handsey_ body guard snapped.

"Misha," Ivan bellowed. "Relax, please." He shook his head. "These testosterone types hurt my head."

"I don't think too many people like doing business with Russians," she said carefully, continuing the conversation. "You guys are scary."

"That was during the Cold War. We are warmer now." He laughed at his own joke.

"I'd be happy to bring a message if you like," she offered. "But I have no influence."

"Of course. I understand. And I am sorry for what has transpired because of our … affiliation. And I am sorry for what this Luka and his group of assholes did. I would happily kill them for you." He cast eyes up to Chibs. "Although, I think they might be dead already, yes?"

Chibs just shrugged. "Couldn't say."

This made Ivan laugh. "Very good. He is tight-lipped this one, that's good." Now he came back to her. "The men who killed your family those years ago. They are all dead, you know. If any of that can help you sleep, I want you to know they were all killed, including one of my cousins. They must have been dealing on the wrong street corner or something."

He was watching her very carefully. The calmness was coming from somewhere strange, and she didn't have to work to keep her face blank. "That's good to know. So this must mean I have nothing to be afraid of?"

He smiled again. "Yes. We understand each other."

There was nothing in his voice that relaxed her. But she couldn't very well make him leave the country or stop being so fucking creepy.

"So you're not going to kill me."

He honestly looked shocked. "No, no of course not. Natalia, I just wanted to see for myself if it was true. I wouldn't want rumours and whisperings going around. I had to confirm or deny. I kill you now and I resemble the monster my father was. I let you live, I am merciful in the eyes of my peers. I'd rather appear merciful right now." He leaned forward. "However. If I need a favour, I expect one. Is this understood?"

Shit. She was going to have to start keeping a tally of who owed who what.

"Understood," she said carefully.

He nodded, reached for the vodka and filled both shot glasses. "Good. Now before I have to run off, drink with me and it's as good as a handshake to a Yankee. Yes?"

She stared at the glass held out to her. The bodyguard was watching her closely. She had no real choice. She took the glass, held it aloft as he did, then downed it in perfect unison with her dear Uncle Ivan. It burned. She put the glass back down, coughing a bit.

Ivan got to his feet, so she did too. He buttoned his suit coat, came to her, kissed both cheeks while grasping her by the arms and offered Chibs his hand. The Scot hesitated but eventually took it.

They left everything sitting out where it was and left out a door at the back of the building. She turned to Chibs, arms out.

"So … that's it? That's what I've been scared of for twenty-three years?"

He shoved his Beretta back in his waistband and handed over her Makarov. "I wouldn't relax until you know for sure what this favour is going to be."

She returned the Makarov to its holster. "I always thought they'd just shoot me on sight."

Chibs rubbed her arm, and she looked down and realized her hands were shaking from the adrenalin.

"Let's get out of here right away," he suggested. "Every time these guys are around you seem to be shot at."

She couldn't argue with that. They left through the way they'd come in. Yvette and the Town Car were gone, replaced by Juice and the van. He smiled broadly.

"Thank Christ," he muttered.

"How'd you know where we were?"

"A guy called Val's, told me I could pick you up here." He waited until they were in the vehicle. "So what the hell happened?"

Chibs shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Did he have a list of demands? Does he want money?"

"He wants a favour from me should he ever think to ask for one," Valerie said almost numbly.

"What?"

"That was it," she insisted, knowing it sounded nuts. "He wanted to see me. Confirm we were related. That was it."

"Wow. Kind of a let-down really."

Val sighed. "Actually, I'm relieved. This is enough drama, Juice."

"So that's it? The Russians are a non-factor?"

Chibs caught her eye as he said, "I didn't believe a fucking word out of that bastard's mouth."


	55. Chapter 55

They took her back to the motel. Valerie was still stewing over how easy that had been during the drive. As the adrenalin wore off and she worked herself down from the high of waiting to be killed, her brain was asking questions. Something wasn't adding up.

Ivan's wording was bothering her now. Her mother had been raised by her uncle from a young age. She could remember her mother using the term "brothers and sisters" to refer to what were actually her _cousins_, her aunt and uncle's kids. She would have been an only child if it wasn't for them.

But Ivan referred to _himself_ as her mother's youngest brother. It was a weird way to put it. They were _cousins._ Plus, how much younger than her mother had he been? No matter how well he'd been aging, he still looked younger than … hell, he looked younger than _Tig_. Even if he was _fifty, _which is the highest she would go on guessing his age, Ivan would have only been thirteen or fourteen when her mother left.

Something was wrong here. Something didn't add up.

She got up the stairs all by herself this time, sandwiched between Juice and Chibs, lost in her circling thoughts. The anxiety and concern she was missing something had her stomach churning.

Or maybe that was the vodka shot on top of a prescription pain killer.

Her room was blissfully cool, the air conditioner humming away loudly under the window, blowing the curtains around. She immediately hiked the dress up, causing Juice to advert his eyes with a quick, "Jesus, Val, warn a guy first" as she unfastened the holster. Her skin was damp under the leather. Very uncomfortable.

Peter came through the adjoining doorway, eyes wide and expectant, clearly concerned. "Val," he said, so relieved. "Val, thank God."

He hugged her and she returned the squeeze, holster and Makarov still in hand. She looked at the exposed grip over his shoulder, frowning suddenly.

Peter backed off, exhaling loudly. "I'm so glad you're okay. What happened?"

She looked from the star on the grip to her half-brother's face. Her stomach was in knots at the thought she had right then. "They tracked me through Mom's gun," she said vaguely.

Peter looked puzzled. "What?"

"That's how they found me. The night I was attacked … they must have noticed the gun, checked the registration. No one knew I had it."

Peter frowned, crossing his arms. "Well … I told you that."

She shook her head. "That was a weird link to make the way you did. How … how did you know that?"

He laughed. "Val? What are you saying?"

The room seemed quieter than quiet. The air conditioner kicked off, its goal temperature reached. She was aware of Juice and Chibs, knowing that her voice and body language were suddenly suspicious.

"How did you figure that out? Tell me, Peter."

He brought his shoulders up to his ears, hands out. "Val, come on -"

"Please don't act like I'm losing my mind. How did you know?"

He opened and shut his mouth a few times. Then he sighed and dropped his head. "They found me in Oakland. Told me I had to come here and make sure you met with them instead of vanishing."

"What?"

His eyes came up begging and pleading. "They were going to kill my girlfriend, Val. She's pregnant. I couldn't -"

She backed away from his reaching hands. "Jesus Peter -"

"But it was okay, right? They'll protect you from the Popovs, and that's what I wanted."

She froze. "What?"

"The Popovs. Those were your family's arch-enemies or whatever, in Russia. Right?"

Chibs took her arm. "Val?"

She looked to him. "That man. Did he have crosses tattooed on his index fingers?"

Chibbs frowned. "I didn't notice."

"He didn't. I'm sure he didn't."

"So?"

She spun on him. "The Popovs get crosses tattooed here, on their index fingers. He didn't have them. Christ, I didn't even notice."

"What does that mean? You gotta slow down and fill us in," Chibs requested.

She swallowed. "That wasn't my family member. He was from another family. He was lying."

Chibs frowned, processing that. Juice chimed in. "What's it got to do with your brother?"

Right. The person right here and now that she _could _deal with. She turned to him, noting that he seemed to be following along with her dot-connecting.

"Shit. Shit, what have I done?"

She shook her head. "Go back to Oakland, Peter. I don't want you here right now."

"Val -"

He might not have known one hundred percent what was going on, but Chibs knew when she had made up her mind. He moved forward, hand hitting Peter square in the centre of the chest. "I think it's best you pack your bags."

"Val, please," Peter was begging as Chibs herded him through the door and shut it, locking him out.

She sat on the edge of the bed, stomach flopping over. Her skin was damp with a sudden cold sweat. Juice leaned on the dresser, and Chibs squatted on his heels in front of her. "Val? What's going on? Catch us up here."

She fought to find her words. "These people were from a competing crime family. The Yanveks don't do cross tattoos. They do red stars on the chest."

"Okay. So you think we met a Yanvek. Not a Popov, which is what your mom was?"

She nodded.

"And … he let you think he was a Popov."

"He flat-out lied. My mom was raised by her uncle, but he told me he was Mom's youngest brother. Mom was an only child."

"So why are the Yanveks here?" Chibs was helping her figure it out more clearly.

"They beat the Popovs here. They wanted to see if it was true; that I survived."

"And what might they do with that?"

She frowned. "I don't know. They _will _ask me for something, I'm sure of it."

"And if you don't do as they ask?"

She met his dark eyes. "They'll hand me over to the Popovs."

"Jesus that's complicated," Juice muttered. "Why not just hand you over?"

"They're competing crime syndicates. They might want to use me to their advantage."

"For what though?" Juice wanted to know. "No offence, Val, but what does a sex therapist have to offer the Russian mafia?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Chibs looked at Juice over his shoulder. "Get her a drink. She's shaking."

Juice was right on it, and Chibs took her hands in his. "Your brother was here to guilt you in to meeting them?"

She shrugged. "I guess so."

"What kind of favour could they ask you for? That makes no sense to me."

Her grip tightened on his hands as her eyes widened. "Guns."

"What?"

"Remember what he said? He mentioned that they'd be willing to supply the _Sons_ with weapons. Shit."

Chibs stood quickly with a cuss word, pacing. "No wonder it all felt so fucked up."

Val covered her face. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Someone pressed a cold glass into her hand, and she smiled up at Juice. "Thank you," she mumbled, downing the glass with one prolonged gulp.

"So we just let the brother leave?" Juice asked.

"What do you want to do? Kill him?" Chibs was only half-kidding.

"No!" she quickly interjected. "Just … let him go. But make sure he actually _leaves_."

Juice went through the connecting door and Chibs sat next to her on the foot of the bed. "You are surrounded by some very sketchy people," Chibs mused, leaning forward with elbows on knees.

"Tell me about it."

She clutched the glass with both hands in her lap. She was taking of stock of all the outsiders she could trust. It amounted to Teresa so far. Pretty short tally.

"We're supposed to take you to the clubhouse," Chibs said carefully. "Should I ask them for an hour or two so you can … get some rest?"

She smiled at him gratefully. "Yes, thank you Chibs."

He nodded and stood again. "All right then. Juice'll escort your brother to the bus station, I'll be right next door."

"You take such good care of me."

He winked then shut the door to give her some privacy. She changed out of the dress and into a tank top and flannel pants, climbing back into bed feeling even more battered and bruised than before.

Quick as a wink Valerie was out and _crashed _for a nearly full two hours. When she was woken up it was Chibs softly saying her name. "Time to go, sweetheart," he informed her, leaving her alone again to change.

She decided the dress from before was just as good to wear now. It was loose over her bandages, and the wounds were still clean-looking when she gave a quick inspection before pulling the blue-green fabric on over her head.

No Makarov this time. The Irish were, supposedly, _friendly._

She piled her hair up again, having slept on it, and touched up her make-up. The room was nice and cool but just looking outside she could see it had gotten warm and muggy. The dress was a good idea.

She knocked on the connecting door, and Juice opened it with his usual, characteristic smile. "Hey Val. You look nice."

"Thanks Juice. Is everyone ready to go?"

"Yeah, we're ready if you are."

She nodded, eyes scanning the room. "Is Peter ..?"

"Yeah, he's gone," Juice said gently. "He didn't think you'd want to say goodbye."

She shrugged. "I would have. He's … he's my brother but -"

"He felt really bad, Val," Juice cut her off. "Take some time, but then get hold of him and let him explain. But that's just my recommendation."

She had to smile at how quickly Juice covered his ass with his _recommendation_.

"You're right," she admitted. "He's family, and he really is all I've got."

"Don't forget – you've got more family to meet right now," Juice reminded her. "You're ready to go?"

She sighed. "As ready as I'll be. Lead the way."


	56. Chapter 56

Chibs followed the van on his bike. As they pulled into the Teller-Morrow lot Valerie felt her blood pressure rise a bit as she caught sight of the office. She might have made a sound as well because Juice followed her glare across the lot as he parked.

"Gemma's not here," he assured her. "It'll be a while before she's here for anything other than garage business. Jax has kind of grounded her for a while."

One part of Valerie was stunned a man would treat his mother that way, but a bigger part of her just couldn't muster enough effort to really care too much. As much shit as Gemma's rash action may have caused the _Sons_ it was still nothing compared to what happened to _her_. And what was continuing from it, as a matter of fact.

Hence tonight's little meet and greet; the ground still falling out from under her because of what that bulldozing-bitch was capable of.

Climbing down from the van's passenger seat Val surveyed the parking lot, noting that only a few bikes were present. Tig's was missing, that was actually the _first_ thing she noticed.

Again, the damn mind-reading kicked in and Juice piped up. "The guys had a run out to Lodi after Jax met with the Irish earlier. They should be back in a coupla hours."

"Come on," Chibs piped up behind her. "Don't keep them waiting."

First indication that something important was happening in the _Sons_ clubhouse was the quiet. There were a few guys playing pool and a few other groups dispersed with beers around the room, but the music was not on and the voices weren't over a high-school-cafeteria volume. And as the door closed behind them she also realized she was the only female in the room.

All eyes turned to them. Some of the familiar faces gave her a nod of greeting, and Chibs took her by the elbow to lead her into the chapel. Groups parted to let her through.

The door opened with a push from Juice, then she was through, the doors slamming shut behind her, and she felt her first nervousness in relation to her _father's _family. Events and dramas of her life hadn't given her time to stew on the Irish side of her heritage too much. If she wasn't moping around heartbroken she was being shot at. Now the reality of _this_ unknown side of her life was, literally, staring at her in shock.

There were three well-appointed men in the room with Jax, two seated and one standing in the opposite corner, looking like a bodyguard. It was funny with all the big, bad-and-burly in the next room that they had this one guy in a suit but one look at his no-fucks-will-be-given expression told her everything she needed to know. He was as good as a dozen armed goons.

There was also a woman in the room, dressed just as nicely as the men in a moss-green skirt and matching suit jacket. When Val entered she'd turned to look at them, then covered her mouth, eyes growing wide. "Liam, just look," she said softly behind her hand in that musical lilt the Irish had.

The man next to her had silver-steel hair, cut short and perfectly, and when he stood she realized he was quite tall, at least six-two. He was pale, thin and well-kept overall.

Valerie raised her face, suddenly feeling like a kid for no good reason. _This _world she didn't know, hadn't grown up in. The IRA may have been mentioned simply as "the Irish," but it wasn't something she was used to in the least.

The man, Liam O'Hara, let her slowly bring her eyes up to his face, and when she got there it was like a punch to the gut. She exhaled and actually stepped back.

Christ, that face was so familiar. It _could _have been her father. But what really nailed it home were his eyes. She'd been staring at the same eyes for about 35 years now in every mirror she'd ever looked into. Green, bright, a perfect copy of her own.

Everything else about her was her mother: skin tone, hair colour, complexion, build, lips and brow. But those eyes had been her fathers, and this guy, who could have only been her father's half-brother, was the spitting image of her own dad.

She felt her eyes water, just a bit. She knew this _wasn't _her dad. But holy shit, this was certainly someone she was related to.

He was studying her just as closely, one hand suavely in his pocket, the other hanging casually to his side. She wasn't offended by the stand-offish posture. She was desperately waiting to hear what he had to say, though.

He titled his head. "I don't know," he mused.

The woman rose to stand beside him. "Are you mad? She's clearly one of you. Look at her eyes."

He smiled wryly. "I was kidding, Kate. I can see her just fine."

Valerie felt her own smile start, and she took a deep breath. "I'm … Natalia," she finished after a slight delay. "Mickey Boyle was my father."

The man nodded, holding out a hand. "Liam O'Hara. I'm told your father was likely my half-brother. I never once thought it impossible, by the way. My dear dad never could keep it in his pants." Valerie shook his hand, finding it warm and dry. Whatever his meeting had been with Jax it apparently didn't worry him to the point of sweaty palms.

"Liam -" the woman admonished.

He held a hand out her way. "This is my wife, Cathleen."

"Kate," the woman corrected, also offering her hand, which Valerie took. "It's very nice to meet you," she added, so warm and sincere Valerie nearly wanted to hug her.

"I wish we had more time," Liam went on. "I understand you had other family you met with today. And I heard about the shooting at your home, I am so sorry about that. I'm glad Jax's men have been looking out for you," he added, directing it over his shoulder to where the MC president stood. Jax just nodded in acknowledgement.

"I would, however," Liam continued, facing her again, "like to stay in touch. I will be returning next month on business with Mister Teller. Perhaps then things will be calmer and it will give us a chance to talk."

Valerie nodded. "That … that would be nice," she agreed.

The O'Haras shook her hand again, then they led the way out of the chapel with the other two men that weren't introduced to her.

When the doors shut Jax approached her, and his raised eyebrows made her realize she'd kept them waiting too long. "I'm sorry Jax," she apologized. "I was exhausted and they said I could take a nap, otherwise I would have come right over."

He waved a hand. "Don't worry about that. I heard there was a fuck up with the Russians. What happened?"

She just stared at him for a second, realizing she'd been expecting him to be pissed at her for making them wait. Sure there was a vested interest in what the Russians were doing in Charming, but he wasn't going to give her shit for making a member of the real IRA wait.

She could learn to really respect the guy.

As she explained what she believed was going on with the Russians she was sure to be careful and economic with her word selection. She didn't want to go off theorizing with this guy; he was more than capable of drawing conclusions, and part of her wanted to see if he came up with the same guesses she did.

By the time her tale was told it was obvious the slightly high-brow Irish influence was forgotten. Raised voices came through the door, the music was on and loud, and she could hear female-sounding shrieks as well. The _party _had begun.

Jax was apart from all that as he digested her story, leaning back in his chair next to her, brows coming together in thought. "That was really fucking smart," he mused, actually smiling. "These Yanvek fuckers are quick."

She shook her head. "I should have realized it right away. The tattoos -"

"I can't imagine how nervous you likely were. We'll keep an eye on you, like before, you have my word. And you're thinking … what? The Russians want to be our gun supplier so you might be the networking angle they need?"

Valerie had to smile. "That's exactly what I was thinking. He knew about the trouble the _Sons_ were having with the Irish. Why else would he bring that up?"

Jax shook his head. "The Russians are so damn dramatic all the time. They could have just asked."

Valerie smiled at that, too. "Like you said; always a question of the biggest swinging dick."

"Thanks again Val, for letting me reach out to the Irish. Looks like it's going to work out. That Liam guy may not be all that high up, and I doubt he has the same belief in the cause his dad did, but he believes in another kind of green. So at least it's something to work with."

She nodded. "That's good."

"And Chibs told me how solid you were with the Russian today. Good job."

"Oh," that surprised her. "Well, thanks."

"You can hang around for a while, but with the nomads in town we can expect a party at any minute, if you're interested.'" She had to wonder at that. It sounded plenty raucous already. "If not, I can get one of the prospects to take you home right away."

"Maybe. We'll see."

Jax smiled knowingly, checking his watch. "My boys should be back any minute, if they aren't already here. Go see if Tig's back."

"I'm that transparent?"

He just shrugged by way of an answer.

She got to her feet, approached the door, then turned back to him as an after-thought. "Thanks again, Jax. I'd likely be dead if it wasn't for you guys looking out for me."

"And Tig would have eventually lost his mind and killed every one of us if you didn't help _him. _So thank _you_."


	57. Chapter 57

Being reminded that Tig Trager was dangerous even to people he cared about if he let his sexual energy build up for too long was a timely event. It was Jax's statement that made her wonder if he _knew _what she would see when she opened the chapel doors.

The rest of the crew _was_ back from their run. The nomad charter was greeting their brothers loudly and the women were stepping up and waiting to be selected for companionship, like dodge ball teams in gym class.

Apparently Tig was a popular dodge ball coach. There was a woman on each arm, their painted nails dig deep into his clothes, and he was smiling at one fake redhead in particular who had herself tucked tight under his arm.

She stopped where she was, like the air had been knocked right out of her. He hadn't seen her yet. She had to tear her eyes away from the sight before he did notice for some reason.

It shouldn't bother her. They were done. She said so herself, didn't she? Or had he, and she agreed?

Didn't matter. The air in here was thick and stunk like beer and cigarette smoke and sex. She needed to get out.

Chibs was behind the bar, and he noticed her noticing the scene across the room. He came forward, holding out a beer. "Come on, dear. Help yourself."

"Worried about the pain meds," she said hollowly.

"It's not Percocet is it?"

"No."

"Then this'll be fine," he insisted, placing it right in her hand.

She held it but apparently forgot how to work the bottle. Chibs nodded his head in the direction of the man who had the power to hurt her more than anyone else. "You know that's nothing. We get first pick of the women. Once that's sorted the nomads pick the rest. Why wait and make them sweat it?"

She nodded, taking a swig of beer. "Great. Understood. But we're done anyway."

Chibs nodded. "You want to go home I'll give you a ride."

She looked around the room, taking another swig of beer. "Nah. You might miss out on the chance to nail something."

Without another word she was draining the beer. Then it happened.

He saw her. Tig was looking across the room, and those blue eyes lit on her for the briefest of seconds. Then he passed her over, leaning down to talk to the woman on his right, the blonde. Something made her laugh.

She drank the last of the beer, then took Chibs' bottle from him and walked away.

Valerie had never felt more out of place in her entire life. She knew Tig had needs that had to be taken care of, or else he _was _a danger close to those around him. But honestly, she hadn't thought he _had _been taking care of those needs.Yes, she knew how _little _sex like that meant to him. It was a release of stress, and if they weren't together how else was he going to not end up a complete wreck?

The second beer vanished quickly. The party escalated just as rapidly, getting louder, rowdier. When the sex got public she knew she had to get the hell out of there.

She got off the sofa she found herself on when the man next to her let a woman collapse across his lap, giggling as he pressed his face between her breasts and motorboated her. Her hair was all over Valerie, and she just had to get away from it.

Valerie stood and surveyed the room. Juice and Chibs were playing pool. She could go talk to them, but they were laughing and kibitzing with these other nomads. She didn't want to be an interloper.

She hated this. If going home was an option she should have hit the clubhouse door two hours ago. She didn't fit in with these people at all and they were just as painfully aware of it as she was. At least they were all leaving her alone.

Valerie wandered through the clubhouse, trying to be inconspicuous, and pushed through the clubhouse doors, sighing as the cooler air of the yard wrapped around her. That was better. Less cigarette smoke, fresh air, and the music was only a thudding beat once the door shut again.

The few people outside enjoying a smoke and the air nodded to her politely enough and she smiled back, wandering to the picnic tables, stepping onto the bench seat and parking it on the patio table. She stared out at the double-row of bikes, the cars parked along the fence, and felt tears welling up in her eyes.

This was her fault, why was she crying at the thought of being alone?

The answer was simple: because it was for the best, but not because she wanted it.

The thought that he was in his dorm with the redhead and blonde that had been crawling all over had her ready to throw up. And she knew very well what they were doing. It did her no good to tell herself he couldn't possibly like them as much as he had liked being with her. What did she have on leggy, tall and scrawny sluts like that? Nothing. She was needy, clingy, and had this whole mob-connection thing. She was complications and messy situation after messy situation. A constant headache.

She had never felt more unwanted in her life. Or that could have been two beers on an empty stomach and prescription-strength pain killers talking.

Valerie let her head hang forward, wishing she could drink enough to really just not give a shit, then at least the pity-party would be over. But the pills honestly scared her a bit. This was enough, she felt plenty spun out and dizzy at the moment.

Boots hit the bench next to her feet and she jumped, sitting upright suddenly. But it was just Chibs, lighting a cigarette and sitting next to her. She had a moment of considering paying him for counselling. He was always ready to listen to her, wasn't he?

"I've got something other than cigarettes if you'd like," he said absently, sitting right next to her.

"Nah. Thanks though."

"So ... you and Tig are done then. That's it."

She nodded. "It's for the best."

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "How can I leave if ..."

"If you care about him?" Chibs finished for him.

"Exactly."

"You still care, Val. Even a bitter old bastard like me can see it."

"Does it matter? You know where he is right now, don't you?"

"Aye. With that hot cherry tart and her bombshell friend."

"Wonderful. You noticed them, too."

Chibs laughed and she wanted to smack him. "You can be this jealous and expect me to still believe you're done with him?"

"I'm not jealous."

"Like hell you're not."

She shook her head. "Look, Doctor Phil, I don't feel like talking about this right now."

"Then what should we talk about?"

She was inexplicably annoyed. "Nothing. I don't need to talk. I'm fine."

He reached out and took her hand. "You being out here all alone is depressing. I can't have a good time if I know how fucking pathetic you are."

She pulled her hand away. "Thanks a lot."

"Well, if it's all for the best to not be with him, there's always other ways to keep yourself amused."

She scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

He didn't answer, so of course she _had_ to look at him. His face was still and stoic, waiting for her to see him. As in ... _see _him.

She had to have misunderstood. He couldn't possibly mean -

His eyes flicked down to her lips. Valerie's heart sped up and she darted off the table, putting distance between them. "Ah, shit," she whispered, mostly to herself.

"Well, that's not the worst _no thanks _I've ever had."

She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "Chibs, why -"

"Why not, Val? You're not what we're used to. You're tough. Smart. Quick. Just as damaged as the rest of us."

She brought her head up at that. "That's not the _why _I meant. _Why _tell me this? Why do this right now? At this very fucking moment?"

He threw the cigarette down on the concrete. "Why can't I say it?"

She covered her face with both hands, realizing the signs she'd never noticed until just now. He was just as protective over her as Tig had been. He'd always wanted to help her talk through her shit. He was here to make her feel better about Tig banging two other women. And what fortuitous timing it was.

"You're a curious broad, Val. That's all. And when a man like Tig goes full-on pussy over a woman ..." he waved his hands, getting to his feet again. "Fuck it. Forget I said anything."

And now she felt bad. She stammered and stuttered around actually answering in any way before blurting out, "Chibs, he'd likely kill both us."

He saw through her drunken excuse for a gentle let-down. "Give me a break here. I wasn't proposing Val. You don't have to be alone if you don't want to, that's what I'm saying." He shook his head. "It was wrong for me to say anything, especially right now." He tossed the cigarette away. "I feel like fucking something. So I'll say goodbye."

She watched him stalk back to the clubhouse door, hating that women always had this need to make everyone feel good about themselves. Turning him down made her feel like shit, but she didn't feel the same way about him. She liked him, yes. She saw him as a friend. But clearly that wasn't his intention, and now he'd said it. Christ, nothing could stay like it was.

Maybe this all was for the best. Everything changing, making it easier to walk away.

She gave him a moment then returned to the clubhouse herself, prepared to beg Juice or someone to take her to her house and watch out for her there. But as soon as her eyes adjusted she knew this was not going to happen. Juice had a blonde grinding on his lap at the moment, and Chibs had already found a flaxen-haired woman willing to be led down the hallway to the dorms.

She felt sick. She had to find the bathroom and hope it wasn't "occupied." She stumbled down the hallway where pleasure-induced shrieks and gasps echoed out through the closed doors. It made her move faster, rushing through the door the bathroom, finding it empty. She slammed the door shut and just made it to the toilet to empty her stomach of the beer she'd had. Yep, not with the pain meds. Bad idea.

Once she as reduced to fruitless dry heaves she flushed and moved to the sink, running cold water and splashing her face. The little bit of make-up she'd started out with was melted. Her hair looked frazzled. She had to get home. She'd take a cab, not tell anyone she was leaving. Just … go.

She opened the bathroom door and made her way shakily to the main room, eyes on the ground. She didn't want to know what was going on in the clubhouse. She just wanted to get the hell out.

"Hey sweetheart. Lost an earring or something?"

She straightened up, not recognizing the man who had planted himself in front of her. He was huge, wearing a nomad kutte, his name patch just reading Pistol. She shrunk away from him a bit.

"I … need to get by …"

"Nah, you're heading the right way. I'm sure we could find a nice, dark corner somewhere." His hand trailed up the back of her upper arm and he moved in even closer, to where she could feel the heat of his breath on her face. "You look like untouched landscape, girl. That's nice. That's … real nice." His hand was in her hair now, bringing a lock up to his face to smell it.

She was frozen. Christ, she was wandering around here alone, clearly not _belonging _to anyone. She may not have dressed like the other _crow eaters_, as they were called. But she was still a woman unattached.

She closed her eyes tight, panic rising like bubbles in her throat. One of his big meaty hands was on her lower back.

"Look at you. You're trembling. Let me take you somewhere and warm you up."

His other hand was on her shoulder. What happened next was a blur. She didn't even know she'd opened her eyes again until her fist was embedded in his nose. The cartilage gave way, opening with a crunch and issuing forth blood like she'd never seen.

He cursed, cried out, and stumbled back against the wall holding his face.

"Bitch, fucking bitch," he sputtered, covering his damaged face. "You broke my fucking nose."

She looked at her fist in surprise. It didn't even hurt.

"You fucking bitch," he swore again, reaching out to grab her, who knew what for.

She eluded his grasp, backing up into someone behind her. She spun around, ready to throw another right if she had to. But cold blue, piercing eyes were staring over her head at the man she'd just decked.

"Pistol," Tig said coldly but still somehow cordially. "You giving our friend trouble?"


	58. Chapter 58

Pistol rose to his considerable height, staring Tig down over her head. He was bleeding but the broken nose was apparently forgotten in the impending dick-measuring contest. And Val was literally sandwiched between them.

"I wasn't going to hurt her. I was going to treat her real nice."

"Not this one," Tig's voice was enough to make her break out in goose pimples, that's how cold it was. "This one is off limits. Dig?"

Pistol shook his head. "Your hospitality skills are lacking."

Tig's hands dug into her arms almost painfully. "Not. This one," he repeated, calm as you please.

"She don't look like someone's old lady. And the other two you claimed kind of limited the available entertainment, Tigger. Don't tell me this one's yours exclusively?"

Val backed against Tig, unable to help it. Her adrenalin kick from punching this guy was fading fast, leaving her trembling. Tig gently led her to stand behind him so he could get right up into Pistol's grill, glaring up at him like the guy didn't have six inches and seventy-five pounds on him.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Pistol. Not this one. There's plenty of sloppy seconds out there now. Go bother someone else."

Pistol's shoulders rolled forward, a menacing _looming _if she ever saw one. "And don't make me _take_ what I want. I want her, she should come to me like any other bitch out there."

Tig's movement was so quick she backed away instinctively. He drove a hard right at Pistol's jaw, then tackled him around the waist, taking him to the ground immediately.

"Jesus Christ," she exclaimed, looking around for someone else to stop the fight. Everyone around had turned into an observer, all of them nomads. "Tig," she shouted. "Cut it out."

The noise drew attention. The dorm room across the hall opened, Chibs stepping out ahead of the dark-haired beauty she'd seen him with before. Without hesitation he was on Tig's back, pulling him up by the sides, yanking on his vest and trying to separate the landing punches that weren't even being deflected of returned any more.

Pistol was spent, apparently.

Once Tig realized the fight was done he let himself be dragged off, shoving Chibs off him roughly. "All right," Chibs said sternly. "You're a tough fucker. You win. Happy?"

Tig nodded, staring down at the bloody mess he'd made. The other visiting charter members were staring at him, and when he stepped over the prone figure who was lucky to still be breathing on the ground they got out of his way.

Chibs watched him go with a set jaw, turning those too-fucking-smart eyes back to her. She couldn't meet his gaze, she looked at her feet.

"Rat!" The Scot bellowed. "Get the van keys. You're taking Val home."

She couldn't argue. The whole thing was so … stupid. She should have left when she had the chance. What was she hoping to do? Rack up a bit more on the Tig Trager guilt-counter?

"Come on Val," she heard Chib's patience leaving his voice as he spoke. "You gotta get home. Rat will take you."

She stepped over Pistol's legs to get out of the hallway, Chibs' voice sounding behind her. "Who told you you were done? Get back in there?"

She turned around just in time to see him herd the dark-haired woman back into his room, swatting her ass loudly. He caught Val looking. His expression didn't change, he just followed the woman where he'd sent her.

This was so not her world.

She hit the front doors of the clubhouse nearly sprinting, Rat on her heels with the vehicle keys. He was the one with the gnarly handle-bar mustache, she'd seen him before she realized. That was good. She'd had enough strangers for one day.

He was, however, way too slow of a fucking driver. Or perhaps she was too anxious to get back to the place she called home. She was crying, and now her hand was starting to ache. But really, her heart was broken.

_You giving our friend trouble?_

She hadn't needed him to save her. She'd taken all the lust out of _Pistol_ one-handed. But seeing Tig right at that moment had made her feel safer, better. Protected. The surge had been instant; she was rescued.

_You giving our friend trouble?_

She closed her eyes, leaning against the window. The booze and pain meds were messing her up, making her irrational. Why did this bother her?

_You giving our friend trouble?_

… _our friend …_

_Fuck you_, she thought to herself belligerently. _Friend._

She opened her eyes, realizing Rat was headed for the highway. "No no," she corrected him. "Take me to my house. Crescent Avenue."

He was torn. "Umm, pretty sure you're supposed to go back to the motel. It's okay, I'll wait outside. I don't mind."

She shook her head. "No. My house or I'll just run away once you fall asleep outside the door. Then you can explain to Tig how I got away."

Rat stared at her for a split second, then uttered a "Fuck!" before slowing to pull a U-turn.

She rested her head against the window again, trying to get her head on straight again. She stopped crying. She had to start planning how the hell to get out of Charming.

At her place she not-so-kindly asked Rat to stay outside to watch out for her. Her mouth was running off and she vaguely recalled saying something along the lines of, "No one wearing a fucking reaper vest was ever welcome in her home again," or something like that.

Rat wasn't offended. He was so agreeable it was frustrating.

She washed her face, scrubbing the make-up off and still feeling like an idiot. While hot water filled the tub she dropped the dress to the floor, leaving it where it landed, then pulled the bandages off a little too roughly. What she really should have been doing is eating something to settle her stomach, but her appetite was non-existent. The soak in the tub helped, but when she got out she was still a bit dizzy. Wrapping herself in her cotton robe she padded into the kitchen, turned on the lights, and was a bit startled by the plywood on the windows. She'd almost forgotten about that.

Valerie didn't have the energy for toast or even butter. She just ate bread plain, feeling like food would never likely taste good again. Two slices down she decided that was good enough. She just had to sleep.

She flicked the lights off, then froze in her hallway, ears straining for what she thought was the sound of motorcycle pipes further up her street.

It couldn't be. He wouldn't fucking dare.

The bike came closer, the rumbling grew louder, then died right outside her house.

Valerie was no longer a weepy mess. She was plenty pissed off and angry. This was Natalia, and she met things head-on, apparently.

Valerie stalked to her front door, tore it open, and stared Tig down as he climber her steps, calm as you like. Rat was following him, warning him, "She doesn't want anyone wearing a reaper vest in the house."

Tig didn't offer the prospect a glance. He stopped on the mat, shrugged the vest off and walked past her into the front room without a word.

Rat was staring at her like he'd let her down somehow. Valerie shook her head. "It's fine. Go back to the clubhouse."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded and shut the door.

"Why aren't you at the motel?" His voice was sharp and it made her cringe a bit. He always seemed so much _louder_ in her house.

"I wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight. I didn't want to go the motel." She threw the deadbolt on the front door, flicked off the light overhead and made her way down the hall again.

"Where you going?"

She turned back to him, ignoring the pang she felt when his eyes met hers, his body seemingly relaxed as he stood with hands on belt buckle. She knew he wasn't relaxed, he was _never _relaxed.

"I'm exhausted, Tig. I'm going to bed. I've been hurting all day, I just met my Irish uncle I didn't even know existed, and I _thought _I had met my Russian uncle but it turned out to be someone from another crime family, so my scary relations are still coming for me. I'm fucking _tired_."

He frowned. "What? That wasn't your uncle you met with today?"

She waved a hand. "I'll explain later. I need to go to bed." She turned and got another two steps before that voice stopped her.

"We need to talk, Val."

Her anger piqued, she spun on him with a ferocity she hadn't expected herself. "Do we? I would love to. But every time we have a conversation you end up being full of shit. I don't want to hear anything else. Go back to the clubhouse and just leave me the fuck alone."

She ended up almost standing on his feet, but he didn't even blink at her outburst. So of course that pissed her off more.

She backed away, shaking her head. "No, I'm _really _done this time. You left me alone there while you were off with those two -" her voice caught. She couldn't even say the word.

"I told 'ya, I can't be the one to break it off, Val."

She could have hit him. "So you'll just do what, exactly? Kill me slowly in the meantime? You know what it's like for me to see that?"

His eyes ran over her face and she would have given _anything _for some kind of reaction from him, something other than a blink.

"You let me in once," she sputtered, feeling like a bigger idiot but she couldn't stop her mouth. "_That's_ the guy I liked. The one that said what he meant, that cried when he was hurt. The guy that would have _reacted _by now, seeing how upset I am!" She shoved him with both hands. "Say something already! Do something! Or get out right now!"

It was there. Just barely. His jaw twitched. He swallowed hard enough for her to see it. He blinked a few times, rapidly.

She felt the water in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling. She gasped in a steadying breath then started to say his name, but her cut her off.

He cut her off by scooping her up in his arms, huddling her into his chest, and bringing his mouth down on hers a bit roughly. Valerie internally cursed herself for it, but her only reaction was to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him back, his lips, teeth and tongue giving her no mercy. His hands were like a vice around her back, lifting her to her tiptoes.

When he parted his mouth from hers his voice was hoarse. "You're right," he mumbled. "I'm full of shit. I have my reasons, but I'm full of shit and I'm sorry."

She pressed her hands to the sides of his face, resting her forehead on his. "You promised you wouldn't keep trying to hurt me."

"That wasn't to hurt you. That was …" he sighed. "Like I said, Val. We have to talk."


	59. Chapter 59

**Well folks, it's my birthday. And everyone gets lovin' on my birthday. Enjoy!**

* * *

Valerie stared hard into Tig's eyes for a long, quiet minute at least. He looked honest and contrite. He did have something important to say. Before she could ask what it was he kissed her again, and like the betraying suit of flesh it was her entire body responded, arching into him, clutching his shoulders and moaning as his tongue again made contact with hers, taking complete possession of her body as surely as it controlled her mouth.

He parted their lips a second time, breathing heavier, hands untying her robe. "You had a bath," he murmured, burying his face in her neck and teasing along her collarbone with his teeth. His hands slid into the robe, circling her waist, the rough plains of his hands scraping along her skin which was still damp and warm.

"I did," she whispered, eyes sliding closed as his hand slid up to cup one of her breasts.

He rolled her nipple between his thumb and finger, making her moan louder. "You smell so good. And you're so warm." His lips found hers again, rougher and more insistent now.

She moaned a second time, her anger gone like a leaf on a plow wind. She should still be furious, and the fact that all he had to do was kiss and touch her like this to make her forget everything should have had her twice as pissed.

His hand slid down her stomach, to the juncture of her thighs. He held his lips close to her ear, whispering low, "Open up for me, Val." She did, ever so slightly, his fingers darting between her legs as soon as there was room, knowing exactly where to go to steal her breath and make her open her eyes, looking up at him, almost startled. Not that he was so aggressive, just that it felt so good. "Christ, you're so warm," he repeated on a growl, hand getting serious now, making her cry out and dig into his shirt with her nails. He nipped at her ear at the same time, that low voice letting her know how this was for him. "You're so wet, babe." Her eyes slid shut, already knowing all this. "That feels so good." She bit at his collarbone, hearing how her breath was ragged and rough already. "I need to taste you. Would you let me do that?"

She couldn't talk. Her eyes were rolling back in her head. All Valerie could do was bury her face against the side of his neck, waiting for her legs to give out. When it happened he kept her upright, her almost pitiful cries muffled against his skin.

He picked her up in his arms, carried her down the hallway and deposited her on her bed. She shrugged her arms out of her robe, watching him with almost scary anticipation as he undid a few buttons before pulling his shirt off over his head. Gun and knife went on the nightstand. Boots took way too fucking long, but she watched his back as he sat on the edge of the bed, bent over, kicking off his heavy footwear. She ran her hands over the spread of his shoulders, feeling him inhale sharply as she leaned on him, her breasts meeting that warm skin as she kissed him between the shoulder blades.

He sat very still while she did it, the first indication he enjoyed it. She hung her arms over his shoulders, running her hands over his chest and kissing his neck. He remained still, eyes closed, the slightest smile on his face. Or so she thought, anyway. She could only see his profile.

Valerie crawled around him to the edge of the bed, standing before him nude, and he looked up at her, eyes taking all of her in. "Jesus, Val," he whispered, hands sliding up the sides of her hips. She felt his gaze on every inch of skin.

She dropped down to the floor in front of him, on her knees. He cupped her face, pulling her up for a kiss again. She returned it, her hands going for his belt and his fly. He let her do it, and when she'd freed him of his pants she broke away from the kiss, eyes wide as she looked up at him, her hands stroking him very softly.

He caught her intention immediately. "Val," he said softly. "Remember what I said?"

She shook her head. "Don't tell me no on this. Not tonight."

His grip on her loosened, but he didn't let go. She moved away from his hands, dropping her head to his lap, taking him in her mouth for the first time. He heard him hiss, and he leaned back to give her room.

She'd never been adverse to the act. Nor was this her first time. This was just the first time she'd really _wanted _to do it. Women like the two she'd seen him with at the club could probably suck the chrome off a wrench set, but she banished them from her mind as quickly as they'd come. One friend in college had been popular for this reason. That was her expertise on this.

She was careful of her teeth, angling her head and neck so as much as possible of him was in her mouth and to the back of her throat, retreat then repeat. Valerie didn't once wonder if she was doing a terrible job. She didn't have to.

Tig's hands wound themselves up in her hair, but he didn't force her head down like some would have. He only gave gentle pulls as she would raise her head, then hiss as she took what she could again.

She went intentionally slow, finding the fact that he was gradually losing control incredibly arousing. She knew she had him close when groans and gasps turned into "Fuck, oh fuck Val" and "Shit, that's perfect, babe."

On that last one she stopped, raising her eyes to look up at him. He cursed, staring back at her and pleading with almost comical desperation, "Nah, don't stop there. What's wrong?"

"Only me," she whispered.

His smile was slow, like a revelation. His hands tightened in her hair as he shook his head slightly. "You little bitch," he muttered, like he was so pleased with her.

"Only me," she repeated.

He nodded. "Only you, babe."

Now she took him faster, picking right up where he'd been when she stopped. He came quickly, hard and incredibly loud, hands clenching, pulling her hair painfully, his body taught and the tremors rolled through his legs, where she could feel it. Valerie took it all; swallowing, sucking and being all the more turned on for it.

The grunts trailed off and he let go of her hair to pull her up by the shoulders to her knees, hands on her throat as he kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. His hands shook. Now he was relaxed; as relaxed as he got, anyway.

Through kisses and soft touches she ended up under him again, both of them finally undressed. His hand passed over the entry wound, and he looked from the stitches back to her face. "Does it hurt?"

"Not right now," she answered honestly, pushing her fingers into his hair at his temple.

He kissed her stomach softly. "Should we put your bandages on?"

"I don't know. I was going to risk leaving them uncovered tonight. Let them breathe."

"God knows I want you Val," he muttered, tracing phantom caresses up her side and over her hip. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"Then just hold me," she suggested, pulling at his hair a bit to bring him back up to her.

"I'll hold you when I'm done," he promised, kissing her deep, hands smoothing over her so softly she shivered.

Valerie never knew the hollow at the front of her hip bone was such an erotic spot. Or the skin on the backs of her knees. Or the crease under her breasts. The very small of her back. The indent behind her ears, or under the jut of her ankle. He had to caress and kiss every part of her, driving her absolutely mad with the process. It wasn't until he made her tremble by scraping his teeth along her knees that he settled between her thighs, tongue and lips making short work of another orgasm too long in the making. All the wonderful play before then meant she was crying out and gasping his name softly within minutes, sweat already having broken out on her skin long before.

He stretched out over her again, kissing and touching and teasing her with painstakingly perfect instinct. She would have sworn he'd been reading her mind. He rolled her onto her stomach to run his hands over her back and ass, taking extra passes on the latter. She smiled, head to the side.

"Is that really your favourite part?" she muttered.

"No," he answered. "You know what my favourite part is."

She peered back at him over her shoulder. "Boobs?"

"No."

"Don't tell me it's my eyes."

He cackled, then nipped at her shoulder. "No."

She frowned. "I was so sure it was the ass."

His hand slid from her ass cheek lower, touching her where she was already hot and swollen, making her gasp and close her eyes while opening her legs for him. He chuckled again. "That's my favourite part. Right here."

"I should have known that," she whispered, his fingers pushing and moving in a most delicious rhythm. "Oh Jesus, Tig -"

"Come for me, Val. That's it, baby." His mouth was on her back, alternating between kissing and nipping at her. "Let me feel it. Come on, baby."

She didn't need coaching, but as the orgasm hit her back arched sharply, a cry ripping from her throat loudly. She sounded pitifully exhausted to her own ears. Her body trembled and tightened around his fingers, the quaking eventually stopping, leaving her about as solid as a puddle.

She heard the drawer of her night stand open, and she blinked a few times to bring herself back around, then glanced over her shoulder. Tig was crawling up over her back, one hand pushing her back into place.

"Be gentle," she said, pointlessly. She could already tell he wasn't going to hurt her; his hands were careful of her wounds on her back, and he made a point of grasping her hip on the opposite side to raise her hips up slightly in shameless offering.

"If anything hurts tell me," he whispered into her ear. His chest was pressed to her back, she was cradled tightly against him, and as he eased himself into her she could only sigh. He slid out and back again with painstaking tenderness, any discomfort he could have caused nothing compared to how sweetly he made love to her. No harsh thrusting; just enough to bring her to the peak of pleasure again, too exhausted to holler or shout. It was silent perfection, the only other person who could possibly know it even happened was moaning above her, body tightening then trembling as his fingers bit into her arms.

Perfect. So perfect.


	60. Chapter 60

Valerie had heard women say before, "Sometimes I open my mouth and my mother comes out." Lying in post-coital bliss, she cringed as she remembered how she'd spoken to the man just hours earlier who was now holding her against his side, tucked safely under his arm. It had been her mother's own shrieking voice, almost to a T.

"Go ahead," Tig mumbled in the dark, hands playing with her hair. "Ask what's on your mind. What's keeping you awake."

"Those girls at the clubhouse," she began, unsure what she was even asking. "What was that, anyway? If the club thinks I'm with you, then why …"

He kissed her forehead. "Let's rewind a bit. After Jax had the meeting with the Irish, we invited them to the clubhouse for a bit to meet you. I had to go on a run with the guys but before I left I got in that O'Hara's ear." He paused. "I think I like that guy."

Valerie smiled as he rushed ahead.

"Anyway. He's coming back in a month, personally escorting our first shipment under this new deal Jax worked out."

"You don't have to tell me this," she reminded him.

"Well, I sorta do. I told him I wanted you out of danger. I … I asked if he'd get you out of here. If you wanted to go," he added on hastily.

Valerie rose up on one elbow and turned her nightstand lamp back on. "What?"

Tig pushed her hair out of her face, leaving his hands on each side of her head. "I meant it. I want you the hell away from this place for your own good. Ireland's pretty damn far."

"He said he'd do it?"

Tig nodded, studying her reactions closely. "The club can't know I set it up or helped, Val. I did it without asking my president. If you leave in a month, we have to be broken up, done, kaput in the great scheme of things."

"So for a month straight you were going to just fuck anything with a pulse to show we weren't together?"

He sighed. "I've been working hard to get back to that the last couple weeks."

She smacked him in the chest. "You asshole."

"I couldn't do it. The night I left here and you found me the next morning, I'd gotten too hammered to know what the hell I was doing. After that … it wouldn't work unless I was completely tanked."

She bit back the surge of anger. "Because of stress."

"You tell me, Doc," he whispered, pulling her shoulders back down to settle her next to him.

"If I disappear and they find out you helped, what then?" She asked, melting back against him, her fingers absently working through his chest hair.

"If they know _where _you went, probably nothing. If they never find out, which I'd prefer, Jax could panic thinking it screwed us on the Irish deal. _Then_ I'd really be in trouble."

"And if they never find out?"

"I sit here and cry into a glass of beer listening to country and western songs the rest of my life."

"Would the _Sons_ come after me?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not. The Irish might nip it in the bud first. Assuming you stay where they can see you."

She sighed. "I can't go."

His arm tightened around her. "What?"

"I can't go."

"Why the hell not?"

She rose up again, resting her head on her hand on his chest. "The Russians know about Peter. They know where he is. Sent him here to make sure I met with them and didn't fly the coop."

His hands were in her hair again. "Your brother's an adult, Val. He'll just have to take care of himself."

"I can't do it. The more I think about it, the more I realize it was no small thing they asked him to do. It was their way of telling me they could still find other ways to hurt me." She told him about the Yanvek she'd met, how she should have noticed he didn't have the cross tattoos. Her _guess _as to why they reached out to her in the first place, all while he calmly played with her hair. But things were stewing, she could see it as his eyes became focused again, ferocious.

Suddenly he totally curve-balled her. "You were supposed to be gone by the time we got back tonight. Those two bitches didn't … I didn't actually do anything. When I saw you I just … took them to my room, gave them fifty bucks and told them that if anyone asked I was my regular spectacular self."

"What?"

"I'm stone-sober, Val. I wouldn't have been able to do shit with them. Maybe if I'd gotten drunk but when I saw you, then Pistol grabbed you …" he had to chuckle. "I fucked up my own cover, didn't I?"

"You kind of did."

"I told you I wasn't just letting you go."

She nodded. "I remember."

"So … we're not breaking up. Not even pretending to."

She shook her head. "Nope."

"We're … together then."

She smiled. "Does that freak you out?"

He shook his head, serious again. "Nah. That's what I wanted. Remember?"

She slid up him carefully, her body starting to ache again. "I remember."

"I remember the first time I sat down in your office, wondering what the hell I was even doing there. Then you started talking, you took my shit and gave it back to me." He chuckled. "I left there thinking _She's the reason I'm here."_

Valerie had to laugh. "You tried so hard to scare me. But there was something about you that just wasn't … all that scary. I don't know what it was."

"It was probably that damn gun you kept in your desk."

She frowned. "What?"

He laughed. "Your assistant let me in early. I went through your desk, saw the gun. Knew I was probably going to like this girl."

"You went through my desk?" She pinched a nipple not-so-nicely. "You asshole!"

He laughed but bellowed. "Oww! Val!"

"I can't believe you did that!"

"Saw your pictures from – what was that – Mexico?" He waggled eyebrows. "_That's _when I knew I was really going to like you. The shots of you in that swimsuit? Even though it wasn't a two-piece, still … Wowsa."

"Wowsa?"

"That's what I said, woman." He grasped her hands in place. "I had to get you out of those stuffy clothes. It was my next mission in life."

She shook her head. "You ass."

"I don't know my own strength. I did more than get you in bed, didn't I?"

He pulled her in for a kiss and she sighed against his mouth, body loosening like it always did when he was kissing her.

It was done. They were together.

Suddenly there was a men's razor on the edge of her sink. A shelf cleared in her medicine cabinet, even though he didn't need that much room. Extra hangers in the closet that weren't for her clothes. The nightstand on the far side was now where the condoms were kept. She had to stock more booze in her house than she ever had before, and every available night she had a man in her bed that snored like a bear and made love like he was always going off to war in the morning … or jail.

Also, a dog bed took up one corner of her bedroom. Peggy, the white bulldog who had kept her company following the attack, came along as a package deal with Tig. She resided in said dog bed, and something about that seemed … perfect.

It was far from domestic idealism, but knowing he would eventually be making his noisy way through the garage door every night and crawling into bed next to her was a pretty damn satisfying feeling. Life might start to resemble something normal after all.

To add to Valerie's rapidly altering universe, the week after the shooting Teresa stopped by while a work crew, made up a couple of prospects and hangers-on, were replacing windows and spackling the bullet holes in her drywall.

The flurry of activity inside clearly gave Teresa pause, or maybe it was the people themselves that made her uneasy. Either way, it took her a second to develop a spine and step through Valerie's new front door, handing over an orchid in full bloom. "To brighten the place up," she explained, running her eyes not-so-subtly over the progress being made.

"Thank you so much Teresa," she said, meaning it. "Come in, don't be shy."

She placed the orchid on the centre of the breakfast counter, moving into the kitchen. "Do you want a coffee? Or tea?"

"No, that's fine. I'm sorry to even ask this, but I'm really here to ask when you were planning on opening again."

Valerie cringed. She really wasn't ready for this conversation, but now was as good a time as any. "I don't know Teresa. I'm worried about the bad rep this place has. I don't see who the hell would want to come back."

Teresa set her purse down on the far side of the breakfast bar, climbed up onto a stool and pulled out her day planner. "The Henrys want to come back. They left messages wondering when they could return."

Valerie had to strain to remember that name, then it hit her. They were the _other _new couple that had shown up the day of the shooting, the athletic and sunshiny-people she'd first visited with. They were willing to come back?

"Also, the Taylors are wanting to book. They haven't been in for a while. Also, there's a new referral here, which brings me to my next idea. The other reason I came by."

Valerie leaned forward on her elbows. "Which is?"

Teresa pulled some papers out of her day planner, unfolding them. "There's a government initiative in place that matches victims of sexual assault with therapists. They don't have to have pressed charges, but the assault has to have been reported. Anyone who can't pay for the treatments can apply to have the government subsidize their treatment, and some people might qualify for complete coverage. It's more paperwork, but I thought … well, I thought you might find this _interesting_."

Valerie was stunned speechless. She turned the papers around on the granite to look at them right-side-up, not sure what she was reading, but it certainly looked like government paperwork.

"Wow, Teresa … how did you find out about this?"

She shrugged shyly. "Ethan has a friend that works with victims' services at the country office, knew where I worked. She told him about it and he told me."

Valerie met her eyes again. "This is amazing. This is … this is _totally_ what I should be doing. Teresa, thank you."

Teresa waved her off. "Don't mention it. It sounded like something you would like. But at the same time, you're right. This house is kind of … _hot _right now." She said, sounding exactly like she had no clue what she was trying to say. "People might not be comfortable with it."

Valerie nodded. "Yeah, my personal life kinda spilled over into the office."

"I'm sure we could find a small office space that would work," Teresa offered. "I mean, we need two rooms and a powder room. That's it. Paint it a soothing beige colour, put out some plants and we're set."

Valerie shook her head. "Jesus, Teresa. You are absolutely invaluable, you know that."

"I like you, Val. And you make coming to work every day interesting," she added, looking up as the newly-installed patio door slid open. She sat up perkily all of a sudden, and Valerie had to cast a look over her shoulder. It was Juice.

She hid a smile. "Oh, Teresa, you remember Juice. He's installing my new security system."

"That's a good idea," Teresa replied, not looking away from the baby-faced Latino as he smiled in return.

"Juice, you remember Teresa?"

"Hi there," Juice said, perfectly friendly. "I'd talk but," he held up a key pad he was installing by the front door, "duty calls."

He vanished down the hall and Valerie smiled as Teresa watched him then brought her gaze back to Val too quick not to notice. "What?" she said almost snappily, making Val laugh.

"Nothing Teresa. Absolutely nothing."


	61. Chapter 61

"So, this is government money then. That's a pretty sweet deal," Tig mused, looking over the paper she'd left out on the island.

"Yeah. It's more complicated than just billing patients, but Teresa's sure she can handle the paperwork." Valerie handed him a bottle of beer, holding her own glass of wine. "This is … this is exciting. This feels right, Tig."

He tossed the papers down and took a swig of beer. "Do it then," he threw it out there, like it was no big deal.

"It's capital up front, that's the only thing. And office space will mean monthly rent on top of my mortgage."

He pulled her to his side under his arm. "Don't worry. I'll start putting in for the mortgage."

She pulled back. "You don't have to do that."

"I'm living here. I'll pay my way, babe. This is important. And I remember why you like doing this." He smiled down at her. "This is making you happy."

She shrugged. "This is … why I started doing this. I used to volunteer with victim's services when I first finished school. I can't remember why I ever stopped."

"Bills," he supplied. "They always kill the urge to volunteer."

She hugged him again. "I'm very excited about this."

"I can tell."

"So how come I have you to myself so early today?" she asked, smiling up at him while he downed about half the beer in one swig.

"We're leaving early tomorrow morning. We'll be Tacoma for a few days. You be okay without me?"

"I don't see why not. Clients are starting back Monday so I'll have time to get my head back into therapist mode. I'm feeling a little rusty with that right now."

"You know I'm going to ask you not to go anywhere alone, right? Make sure the prospects or Chibs is with you?"

She nodded, lowering her head to his chest again. "I know." Valerie hoped like hell that didn't look guilty or suspicious.

"Come out to the patio," he suggested, taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the doors. She was surprised – she was sure as that beer was drained they'd be heading for the bedroom without any more preamble.

Outside the night was refreshingly cool after a hot day, the air sweet with dispersing humidity. Even in a shirt and tank she wasn't cool in the least. They fell into their standard lounger, him pulling her down to sit in front of him with a loud sigh, her back to his chest, legs stretched out in front. Twilight was almost done putting out the daylight and the world was blissfully silent.

"I got something I wanna ask you," he eventually said, and her body tightened up, expecting either the worst or the next-to-impossible, not sure which she would prefer.

"Okay," she said slowly, lacing her fingers through his.

"Have you thought about getting another tattoo someday?"

She frowned. "I don't know. I guess I _haven't _thought about it one way or the other. Why?"

"I want you to wear a crow. For me." The way he stated it indicated she should know what he meant.

"A crow?"

"It marks you as … mine."

"Like a brand?"

He chuckled softy; she felt it more than heard it. "I guess that's one way of looking at it."

"And it's a crow because of SAMCRO?"

"Yeah."

She thought on that. "Is that the ugly tat that Gemma has on her chest?"

"Hey, be nice."

"Be nice?" she started to sit up, but he pulled her back.

"Okay, sorry. I wasn't trying to minimize what happened. But that tattoo is an important thing to us, Val."

She relaxed back against him. "I know it is."

"It doesn't have to be the same tattoo. I'll even let you decide where it goes."

She frowned. "The woman doesn't even pick _where _it is?"

He was chuckling again, clearly amused by her _outsiderness_. "Not usually. But if I pick the design, you can pick where it goes."

She had visions of crows committing unnatural acts with farm animals for some reason, but fought those back. "I guess … I have to think about it."

"It's a big decision," he said with great reverence, and it gave her pause.

"Wait," she interjected, sitting up and turning halfway to look at him. "What does it mean? What's the importance of the tattoo?"

He shrugged, and for the first time since she'd known him he looked … unsure. Less than confident. "It's just … it means you're my old lady."

She thought she'd heard wrong. "What?"

Valerie wasn't helping his conviction. "It means we're as good as … hitched, I guess."

She just stared at him, then blurted out, "It'll be so awkward."

He frowned. "Why?"

"Gemma," was her answer. "She's the queen bee, Tig. I'll never be welcome at court."

He blinked at her mixed metaphor. "Don't be so dramatic, Val."

"I mean it, Tig. I won't be welcome at events where everyone else's old ladies will be invited. I'll never play nice with her, or _her _with _me_. Won't that bother you?"

He shook his head. "We'll just be _together, _Val. Nothing else matters."

"But you've been friends with her a long time."

He shrugged. "I care about you. A lot. And what she did was … inexcusable. I don't think I'll ever forgive her for it. Yeah I gotta live with her being around but it ain't the same between Gemma and me. Never will be. I'm picking _you _to be _mine_. And this tattoo makes it real for everyone to see."

Valerie took a full thirty seconds to let it sink in, then felt her smile start. "Really?"

He tilted his head like he thought she'd been messing with him the whole time. "Christ Val -"

"Well, I had to _think _about it." She let the smile grow. "Wow."

He grasped her hands tight. "I'll get one for you, too." She leaned into him, pressing her lips to his. He held her like that by the back of her neck, then let her go only enough so he could back away and stare at her, eyes as bright as she'd ever seen them. "I ain't gonna say it, mostly because I know I don't deserve to even _think _it, but … you know what this means. Right?"

She nodded, eyes closing. From being scared and a little bit disgusted by him to falling in love with him in a couple of months; life could be so surprising.

"This also means you bring _everything _to me. Anything is out of line, it comes to me first, okay? You tell me _everything_. And that includes anything to do with Gemma."

She nodded. "I will. I promise."

"Now … what do we do about this new milestone in our relationship?"

Valerie laughed. "It's a little unconventional. I'm not sure."

"I was thinking we try something new," he suggested, pulling her against him and kissing her hard, holding her head in place, no way for her to get free.

"Like what?" she asked breathlessly when she was able.

He shrugged. "Outside, on the patio furniture."

Her eyes got wide. "Tig -"

"It's dark enough. All your neighbours' houses are lit up, which means they can't see shit out the windows." He began sliding his hand up her leg. "C'mon, Val. You're even wearing a skirt right now."

One more kiss was all it took to convince her. Apparently nothing does it for her like the promise of a crow tattoo and a man not _quite _saying "I love you."

Valerie studied her reflection in the mirror long and hard. Tig had fallen asleep hours before, but she was still tossing and turning, her brain refusing to go on stand-by mode.

Did she ever have daydreams as a girl about proposals and weddings? No. The weddings she could remember from her childhood were back-yard barbecues after someone paid a visit to a Justice of the Peace, more often than not with the bride's stomach swelling past the point of camouflage.

She studied her naked body in the mirror, the strangest thoughts bouncing around in her head. She barely saw the scars anymore, but she wasn't sure if it was because she was used to them or if they had faded to the point where you really had to be _looking _to notice them. The bullet wounds had been unstitched and were healing nicely, but that was another mark that would remind her what she'd been through so far. The dragon tattoo was her own way of owning what had happened, taking something ugly and making it beautiful. And now a crow tattoo of some kind, and where the hell would she want that?

She half-swivelled in the mirror, checking out her back. The exit wound was just outside of the dimple in her lower back. Scar tissue hurt like a bitch to tattoo, but maybe it was a good chance to tie her brush with death in with something good that happened around the same time.

Valerie faced forward again, covering her abdomen, an incredibly strange thought threatening to overwhelm her.

_It means we're as good as … hitched, I guess._

The thought of being _hitched_ undoubtedly led to the other stage that usually came afterwards. She'd never contemplated it, sure that she'd never be in a situation to spend her life with someone, never mind entertain the thought of a child.

And with someone like Tig?

She wasn't sure she wanted kids. Wasn't sure she _could_. The doctors had _thought _she would be okay after what happened to her at such a young age, but she hadn't followed up in later years. At thirty-five she was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to give up that much control of her life, and she was fairly confident he wouldn't be interested.

But the thought came up anyway. And just the thought of holding a baby that had the brightest blue eyes she'd ever seen had her smiling in spite of her own attitude toward parenthood before this point.

Having a baby would be … wonderful. And completely nuts.


	62. Chapter 62

"Here's a nice one," Teresa mentioned, pointing to the classified ad for rental space. "And it's next to a bakery. We could get fat just from the smells wafting in."

"I'd be okay with that," Valerie joked.

"Sure, you're not one of the recently dumped," Teresa muttered, downing the last remaining drops of her iced tea.

Valerie put her own glass down on the cafe table. "Oh Teresa, really? I'm so sorry."

The blonde shrugged. "Oh well. Ethan was nice but … pretty boring, actually. I mean, staying at home to watch TV will likely be great when I'm fifty but … maybe take me out dancing or something. Just a thought."

Valerie had to smile. "Yeah, _dates _would be nice. I'll agree with that."

"Right now I'd take anonymous rough sex," Teresa mumbled.

Valerie raised her eyebrows. "Well, okay then. You okay to drive home?"

Teresa laughed at that. "You're the expert. What does it mean when a guy won't even _touch _you, even when you tell him it's okay?"

She frowned into her glass. "I don't know, it could be anything. He respects you. He's worried about disappointing you. He's not interested. Or … he prefers men?"

Teresa nodded. "That's what I thought. Three months and all he did was kiss me. And _that _took weeks, Val. It was starting to feel like _I _was weird in some way."

Valerie suddenly got very involved in the classifieds. She wasn't too terribly comfortable with Teresa opening up suddenly. In the middle of a restaurant. Where they were having lunch. And not just because she wasn't on the clock at the moment.

"I'm just kind of … envious. Of you."

That brought her head up. "What?"

"I mean, I thought I had you pegged when I started working for you. You were friendly but you kept to yourself, quiet. Then the attack happened and I was worried about you. I thought you'd lost your mind when you told me about that Trager and you. But with everything else since then … I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but you really seem happy. And he really seems to care about you. In a scary, kill-anything-that-moves way, but still …" Teresa shook her head. "Maybe I'm hormonal right now. At the stage of my cycle where cavemen are attractive."

"What … what makes you say he cares about me? What … what happened?"

Teresa smiled at her sheepishly. "I saw him at the hospital after you were shot. I brought you some flowers and he said he'd make sure you got them. He was as close to a wreck as I've ever seen a man. He was actually … not rude to me."

Valerie smiled, then had to move to another subject. "The flowers were lovely, by the way. Thank you."

Teresa waved that off with one hand. "Anyway, rental space. At least we don't need a store front, so if something opens up on a second level somewhere we could always do that, too."

"That's likely cheaper, too." Valerie flipped the page over. "Well, that's three places we could at least walk by today. That's not bad."

"Is your security detail going to be following us?" Teresa asked, peering out the window next to their table.

Valerie followed her gaze. Chibs was sitting on his bike at the curb, drinking a take-out beverage from the café and watching all the traffic on the street with a keen eye. He hadn't been the same with her since that night at the clubhouse. He was aloof, cold, and she found herself really missing his scalding sarcasm and humour. But she was sure he'd get over it. Hopefully.

"Yeah, he'll follow us," Valerie admitted. "Sorry Teresa. Tig's just worried about me after the shooting."

"I know. It's a good idea." She sighed. "Why couldn't it be that cute one?"

Valerie shook her head. "Oh, Teresa."

"Sorry, but he's adorable."

"Yes, I know."

"Okay, I'll drop it. Let's go look at spaces."

Valerie grabbed the bill before Teresa could protest, and they walked out onto a sun-drenched sidewalk, pulling sunglasses on out of necessity. Valerie brought the newspaper to Chibs, outlining where they were going to look at office space.

"We'll try this one first. It's just down the street, opposite side." He grunted in response. "Then we'll head over to Mayflower and look at this one. And the third place is just two doors down from there."

He finished his soda loudly, straw sucking up the last of it with a lot of unneeded racket. When he was good and ready he stood. "All right then," he declared, rising up over the bike. "I'll park further down, you can start walking."

"Thanks," she replied with plenty of sarcasm, then rejoined Teresa. Together they crossed the street at the corner, and as the space for lease came in to view Valerie could already see it could be perfect. Bakery on one side, outdoor lifestyle supply-slash-bicycle repair shop on the other side. Through the windows she could see a long counter with a narrow space along the windows for a waiting area. Frost the glass for privacy and it would still be bright and cheerful.

She checked the listing again. The lease seemed high, but she knew this spot had been vacant for a while. Maybe she could talk them down on the price.

"I like this one, Val," Teresa was agreeing with her without knowing it. "Look at the sunlight flooding in there. It would be so welcoming."

"I was thinking the same thing," she mused. "Let's check out the other two. But this one is definitely a contender."

They headed back up to the corner to cross again. Her head was in her paper, Teresa was jabbering on about how property prices had been declining in Charming, and if it wasn't for the sound of a loud motorcycle engine she wouldn't have been paying attention enough to notice the man who was striding up to the two of them. But she _did _hear Chibs' bike, and she brought her head up and around in time to see someone terribly overdressed in an expensive black suit that must have had him melting. His eyes were set on her, and he did nothing to hide the fact she was the one he was after.

She pushed Teresa behind her, reaching into her purse. She didn't pull the Makarov, just held it in her hand while she said, "Can I help you?"

Chibs pulled up to the curb, got in between her and the dark-clad bastard, pulling off his sunglasses casually. "Excuse me sir, do you happen to have the time?"

The man stopped, clearly caught off guard. "What?" His accent was clear, even with that one word.

"Do you know what time it is?"

The guy frowned. "It's after one. Why?"

Chibs shrugged. "If you're not going to give me an exact time, what good are 'ya?"

The man huffed, pulling up his coat sleeve to check his watch. When he did, Chibs grasped his arm, wrenching it around behind his back, and shoved him up against the brick façade of the Charming post office. "Those are some distinctive tattoos on your hands, boyo," she heard Chibs mutter close to the guy's ear.

That made her look. The hand the man had thrown up to prevent his face from hitting the building was above his head, palm against the brick. Black cross tattoo on the index finger.

"Here's the thing. We don't really want anything bad happening to the girl. She was hurt, she didn't cause any of it, so just leave her alone."

"Not my call," the man spat out.

"So what's the order? Kill her on a public street at one in the afternoon?"

"Just … scare her."

Chibs pushed his face against the brick. "She doesn't scare easy. And if I see you near her again, you won't get another chance to even look at her. If your boss has a problem, he can come and see _my _boss. Can you tell him that for me, sunshine?"

No answer, until Chibs pushed on his head harder, making him wail a bit. "Fine. Fine!"

Chibs pulled him off the wall, spun him around and all but tossed him back the direction he'd come from. "Run along. You're late."

The man _was _running. He was likely going to collapse from heat exhaustion.

Valerie pulled her hand from her purse, leaving the gun concealed. Her hand was shaking, she realized. The tattoo had confirmed it. The Popovs were in town.

Teresa was staring at her with wide eyes, both hands covering her mouth. She didn't say a word, just whimpered once.

"Get home," Chibs instructed Teresa. "Go straight there and lock your doors. They aren't after you but just be careful."

Teresa hurried off as fast as her legs could carry her. Valerie started after her. Teresa was her ride. But Chibs grabbed her arm before she got two steps. "You're going home. Right now. With me."

There was no room for argument. He handed her his helmet, opting to go lidless, and didn't say another word as she climbed onto the Dyna behind him, holding onto his waist and trying not to find it awkward.

He didn't ride to her house, he went to the clubhouse instead. At this time of day it meant Gemma was around the lot, but she tried to be practical. She could avoid that bitch by just staying away from the TM office.

Chibs parked and she climbed off as quickly as she could, handing him back his helmet. She started for the clubhouse without another word.

He followed her, however, and once inside the dim interior she stalled, not sure where she had intended to go. Chibs moved around her, heading for the bar and grabbing a bottle.

"It's early," she couldn't help but say.

"Not _that_ early," he quipped back, pouring a generous belt of whiskey and tossing it back.

He wouldn't look at her and she couldn't blame him. This was beyond uncomfortable.

"Here," he said hoarsely, sliding a second glass her way.

"I don't know -"

"Drink it."

Fuck. They were all the same when you got right down to it, weren't they? Bossy as hell. She stepped forward, grabbed the glass and took a swallow, wincing as it burned.

"The whole thing. At once."

She did, probably pouting like a kid taking their cough medicine.

"That's more like it. There's the Irish in 'ya."

She looked up, catching the twinkle in his eyes before he looked down to pour himself another round. She smiled, something _close _to relief flooding through her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine. I'm a little shaken but … I'm fine." Then as a cautious after-thought she added, "Thank you."

"I don't even know where he came from," Chibs mused, taking another draw. "Suddenly he was just _there_. And not exactly inconspicuous, neither. What a daft prick."

"Did he have a gun?"

He nodded. "In his waistband, at his back. As much as he surprised me, I think I got him good, too." He shook his head. "It's one thing to think they'll sneak up on 'ya. But to come at 'ya in broad daylight? I think these bastards are crazier than we thought."

"They're connected," she confirmed. "They get away with a lot."

The following silence was much more comfortable. Suddenly he turned to her. "Want to play a round of pool?"

She smiled wider, nodding. "Sure. That would be great."


	63. Chapter 63

"Seven, in the far corner."

Val cocked an eyebrow at the Scot. "You're calling your shots now?"

"If you don't call it, it don't count," was the reply, making her laugh.

"So nothing's counted until you started winning?"

"Aye."

"Dirty cheater."

"I resent that. I've been going easy on 'ya considering you're plastered."

She shook her head. "I'm not plastered."

"Well that doesn't explain your last four shots."

She flipped him off, making him laugh before he stooped to the pool table and, of course, successfully sunk the seven. She was getting her ass handed to her.

"I'm about to wave the white flag here," she muttered, staying right where she was. He only had the eight ball left. The game was over.

"Eight ball, right in front of 'ya, sweetheart. You might stop me here with a good stiff belch."

"I admit defeat."

He sunk the shot, grabbing the whiskey bottle off the corner of the table and taking a swig of what was left. "Is that a hundred bucks you owe me now?"

"Yeah yeah," she threw back at him, making the chatter motion with her hand.

"All right then, double or nothing," he said, setting the bottle behind her on the bar. "I'll rack it, you get to break."

She checked the clock. Four-thirty. Time was crawling. When they'd returned to the club Chibs had sent a prospect to tell Gemma about the Popov they'd run into. Valerie was relieved; she really didn't feel like seeing the club's matriarch at that moment. Gemma called Jax on the road to tell him about the development and the group was splitting; sending three _Sons _back to protect the clubhouse while the rest continued on with the Nomad charter. They wouldn't be here for hours.

At first she'd been nervous that the Popovs wouldn't waste any time and head right for the clubhouse. But maybe they weren't aware how far away reinforcements were. Maybe they thought the rest of the club was within reach and being assembled for defense. She really hoped so.

Now as time went on and the whiskey was apparently evaporating she was starting to relax, more than glad that Chibs seemed to be back to his old self.

Balls racked, she took position, laughing as he passed behind her and swatted her cue. With sudden focus she broke, the seven-ball heading straight for the far right corner, the four sinking on the right side pocket.

She spared Chibs a look over her shoulder.

"Ah, shite," he muttered.

She cleaned up the rest of the table, sank the eight ball on a lovely bank shot in the left corner pocket, then set the cue down.

"I've been hustled," Chibbs declared, grabbing the bottle again.

"You said _double or nothing _to an orphan," she reminded him.

"What?"

"We go to orphan school and they teach us pool as a way of making quick money."

He reached for his wallet and she held up a hand. "Consider it payment."

"For what?"

"For you agreeing to never again speak of what you said the other night." Yeah, she was going there. She felt she had to.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why? What did I say?"

She held up a finger in warning. "Don't be cute."

He straightened his shoulders and hid his wallet again. "Did you tell Tig?"

"Are you still breathing?"

"I guess that is my answer. And it's more kindness than I deserve."

She shrugged. "It's fine. We just won't speak on it. Or … do I _have _to if he inks me?"

"He's inking you?"

"Doesn't that mean I have to tell him _everything_?"

Chibbs came forward and holding out the whiskey. "You tell him if you want. Don't worry about me."

"I'd have to trust _you _not to say anything," she said, taking the bottle.

"Nothing happened. What's to say?"

They just stared at each other, but it wasn't weird. It was just an understanding reached, and Valerie nodded. "I've missed your smart ass comments," she admitted, taking a swig.

"I'd like to say I've missed nearly getting killed every time you're around, but today took care of that."

"Yeah. Sorry."

"I don't fancy 'ya with overwhelming intensity. My friend cares about you, and you care about my friend. That's all there is to it. I think you're a great girl, and if things were different …" he shrugged again. "But they aren't."

She handed the bottle over, nodding. "Good. I count you as a friend. You've been there for me."

He tilted his head, then held his arms out to at his sides. She took the invite and hugged him, sighing. "You're such a softie," she added.

"Hey – don't let that get around."

"Well, ain't this cosy?"

At the sound of the voice Valerie stiffened, stepping away from Chibs and crossing her arms, turning around to face the source. Gemma Morrow stood at the end of the bar, hip jutted out while crossing her arms as well.

"Can we help you, Gemma?" Chibs asked, as though he was unaware of the tension in the room.

"Got a message from Jax. They're making good time, they'll be here around six. Tig was wanting to make sure his woman was okay. She seems to be doing fine."

Valerie met her gaze stone-faced, her rage like a cold tide rising up over her body.

"You have a point to make, Gemma? You can make it." The Scot was much more polite than Valerie would have been … if she'd been willing to speak.

"Nothing. You two enjoy yourselves," Gemma turned to leave, which would have been fine.

"Fuck you," Valerie spat out, almost like a reflex she couldn't control.

Gemma turned back, eyes wide. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," Valerie continued, a small, tiny and easily overwhelmed voice in her mind screaming at her to shut the hell up. But Valerie was in full Natalia mode, which was likely her _mother's _mode the more she thought of it.

"I've apologized. You won't hear me out, and all this time I felt guilty over this you're turning out to be another crow eater with a better wardrobe."

"Don't you dare," she seethed. "Judgement coming from _you _is laughable and ill-advised."

"Word to the wise, sweetheart," Gemma's tone was cold as she took a few strides towards her. "When you get involved seriously with these men, they don't share well. You can't lead him on then fuck his friends."

"Gemma," Chibs was issuing a warning, it was all too clear in his voice.

"Really? But if you're married to the _president _you get to be the exception to that rule?" it came out of Val's mouth so fast even her bigger and dumber voice had a moment to wish she hadn't gone there. She'd meant to hold Tara's privileged information in confidence, only using it if she had to. At least she hadn't spilled the entire can of beans.

Anger as deep and wide as she'd ever seen is shadowed Gemma's face, and her jaw became rigid as bedrock. "I take back my apology," she snapped.

"It was never accepted," Valerie reminded her.

"Ladies," Chibs tone was downright patronizing, but he knew no one was going to listen to him anyway. "Please don't do this. I don't have a camera running."

Gemma shook her head. "The nerve to speak like that to me, in _my _clubhouse."

"Let's compare notes, Gemma. Verbal sparring versus sending a stranger to my house and paying him to scare me back into the protection of your precious club, just to keep an eye on me and my relations. I got a long way to go before I'm anywhere _near _being in league with you. I proudly admit that."

"You may think so, but I told you once we had a lot in common. And I don't back down either, _Natalia_."

Valerie couldn't tell if that was a compliment. Probably not. "How do you _pick_ a person to break into someone's house? How do you vet the possible candidates?"

Gemma just shook her head. "Someday you'll care about something as much as I care about this club. When it happens and it's threatened, _then _you come and see me. We'll chat." Her voice shook. Just a little bit, not enough to make Valerie give a shit.

"It'll never happen, Gemma."

Gemma stared her down, then decided she _did _have more to say. "The guy I sent worked here for a while, while the guys were inside. About a year ago. He had gambling problems. He was in town again, trying to make money to get away from someone he owed money to in L.A. I thought he could do this, I'd give him enough for a bus ticket and a bit more. That's all."

Valerie shook her head. "He brought along friends, Gemma. What the hell?"

"I don't know who they were," Gemma admitted, face slackening a bit as tear sprang up. "He said he owed some Ukrainians money. All I can think is that they showed up to collect, he told them he was going to come into some cash, and they wanted to know _how_. That's the only thing I can think of."

Valerie swallowed hard, hating that her anger stuttered for just a second.

"I'd take it all back if I could," with that Gemma Morrow left the clubhouse, and all the pent-up frustration trailed after her like a wake.

Valerie felt her shoulders loosen. She'd been holding her breath without realizing it. Chibs put a hand on her arm. "Are you all right, Val?"

She nodded. "I really thought she was going to hit me."

"So did I. Don't do that again. I hate breaking up bitch fights."

"Is she really going to go and tell Tig we're sleeping together?"

"Nah," Chibs dismissed. "That dig was entirely to get you riled up. She played you like a fiddle, Val."

"She walked away first."

"Well congratulations. You won then."

She turned on him then. "Are you being pissy with me?"

"No," was his instant reply. "She fucked up, _beyond _anything I've ever seen her do."

"Did she put Tara in jail? Was it her fault?"

Chibs was stunned. "What? No."

Valerie tilted her head, not believing him. "Come on. Her ex-husband, president of her precious club, is retired. Thrown in prison. Her son is married, he's got an old lady already. She's suddenly without purpose or function. But Tara's in jail and she holds the throne in the meantime." Valerie made a scoffing sound. "If you don't see that you haven't been paying attention."

Chibs grabbed her arm, pulled her close to his face and hissed with urgency. "Remember that whole, _taking care of you _thing? That's what I'm about to do. Right now. You be careful where you air your suspicions, sweetheart. That woman built this club, and yes, her son is running it now, and he needs her around. This club is also protecting _you_, don't forget it. It's her guilt that's making sure we're watching you, not just Tig's claim on 'ya. So if you like life on this side of the grass I suggest you think before you speak that way about Gemma. We all know she fucked up, I'm not excusing it. Never would. But your welcome _can _be worn out. And I told 'ya once, making Tig choose between you and this club wouldn't be fair either."

Valerie hadn't been this shamed since grade school, she was sure of it. And he was right. She wasn't going to make friends with the woman, and she wasn't about to forgive her. But avoidance and gratitude was likely going to go a long way, especially if she was staying in Charming.

"You're right," she admitted, voice small. "I'm sorry. I won't say anything like that again."

"_Think _it, don't say it," he advised. "You're too damn smart to act like that."


	64. Chapter 64

After giving her shit Chibs had decided to go help out in the garage, leaving her to her own devices. While he'd clearly been pissed, a few moments alone made her realize he was probably mostly pissed she was spewing her theories around where anyone could hear. Maybe he was right; she really needed to think about who she could really trust in this group. And God knew she was hardly an _insider_ at this point. If any kind of club vote came down to _Val _or _Gemma_, she wasn't going to win.

In the meantime, Valerie would have killed a puppy just to have a book to read or something. Time had about as much urgency to move it along as a death row inmate, but by five-thirty she could hear motors in the yard. She sat up on the sofa where she'd been nearly napping, peering out the window. It was too early to be the guys, and not nearly loud enough.

A shiny black Town Car pulled into the lot, coming to a stop in the middle of the aisle that led to the service bays of the garage. "What the hell is this now?" she mumbled to herself. She felt tense and alert suddenly, watching as Chibs and a prospect approached the car, keeping a safe distance as they stopped in front of the hood.

Valerie swallowed. _Shit. _She'd really hoped the others would have been before this.

The front doors of the Town Car opened in unison, and men climbed out from each side. They were wearing jeans, leather suit-coats and T-shirts. Not nearly as well dressed as the Yanvek's thugs had been, or the man on the street that afternoon. They shut their doors loud enough that Valerie heard it inside.

She was torn on what she should do. They wanted _her_, most likely.

She moved to the bar rapidly, pulling open her purse and getting the Makarov in her hands. They were steady, she was glad to see. She checked the magazine; it was loaded, like she expected. She disengaged the safety and put it down the back of her shorts. Her shirt covered it perfectly.

She hovered near the clubhouse door, straining to hear what was going on, but of course it amounted to sweet fuck all. She returned to the window. A third man had climbed out of the back seat, this one was dressed quite handsomely in a grey suit. It might have even been a three-piece.

A second car pulled up behind the first, and another hired goons got out. "Shit," she whispered. She could hear the garage doors clang shut, saw the other prospects and a couple hanger-ons step forward to stand behind Rat and Chibs.

Valerie went for her phone. She flipped through the entries, finally finding where Tig had entered his cell number. He listed himself as "Best Fuck Of My Life." She didn't have time to laugh at that. She dialled it, hoping like hell they were close.

"Yeah?" his voice came through after two rings that seemed to take an eternity.

"Where are you?"

"About thirty minutes out. Had to take a break. Juice has the bladder of a pregnant woman."

"Hurry," she interrupted. "They're here. We're outnumbered."

"Fuck," he muttered. "We're on our way."

Thirty minutes was a lifetime. They could all be dead.

She heard a succession of short pops, just a couple before one of the front windows exploded inward.

_Way too fucking late._

She ducked behind the bar, then crouched and ran for the wall of windows again. It was a relief to see no bodies on the ground, but she had no idea where anyone was.

The clubhouse door burst open, and she swung that way, half surprised to see her gun in her hand. She honestly didn't remember grabbing it from her waistband.

Chibs raised a hand to her as a prospect ran past him, and he slammed the door.

"Is everyone okay?" she breathed.

"No one got shot. Us _or _them," he answered, back to the wall next to the door.

"Where are they?" she asked. "I can't see shit."

"Behind the office. One's behind the last car."

"Where's Gemma?"

Chibs shrugged. "My bet is she's in the garage. She'll be fine."

"I got hold of Tig. Told him we had company."

Chibs smiled. "Good girl. How long will they be?"

"Another thirty minutes, he said."

Chibs nodded. "Call it fifteen. They'll be here."

She peered out the window again, seeing a man sliding along the furthest car, crouched low.

"One's coming," she hissed. "Other side of the cars. I can't get a shot. Should I pin him there?"

Chibs shook his head. "Not unless he's _too _close," he instructed, still basically leaving it up to her what _too close _meant.

Another movement caught her eye. The thug behind the final car was moving up too, rapidly approaching on the other side.

"Two of them," she muttered. "Each side of the cars."

Chibs was studying her, his eyes going from the Makarov to her face while she waited. She really didn't want him to tell her to just "head for safety." Not if she could be of any help.

"Together on three," he instructed. She nodded. "One, two," then he was standing and flinging the door open.

Valerie stood up, finding the man on her side of the vehicles right away, alongside the hood of the lead car. She fired three times quickly, catching him in the shoulder before he ducked. She dropped too, scurrying from that spot as gunfire was returned, hitting the area she'd been in, tearing through the wall like cardboard.

"Got him, but not mortally," she informed Chibs, who had just ducked back inside, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Good," he muttered. "'Cause I missed."

"Now what?"

"Head around behind the bar. There's less for them to hide behind in here. We can ambush them. Rat! You ready?"

The prospect stuck his head out from behind the pool table. "Yeah."

She led the way around the corner to the bar, leaning back against the wood front. Chibs peeled off the opposite way, upending a table and taking cover behind it.

Her heart was pounding loudly, but at the same time she could hear every nuance in the room. She could hear Rat and Chibs breathing. She could hear the footsteps getting closer to the door. She could even hear them whispering, but not well enough to make out what was being said. The world just became quieter, and she could time her own breathing with her heartbeat, her vision sharpening.

The doors' hinges creaked. Chibs moved a half-second before her, Beretta blaring away. Valerie added the Makarov added to the symphony, not standing but easing around the bottom of the bar. The first guy was falling down already, the second one she took out at both knees. His screams were quite painful as someone behind pulled him back.

She took cover as Chibs did, then Rat jumped to his feet and was tearing the front of the building to pieces, handgun in each hand.

Her ears were ringing, yet she could still hear them coming.

Rounds tore through the wood above Chibs' head, and he scrunched down further. She ducked around again, firing off a few rounds before she had the next guy sighted. She caught him in the chest, but the second man was faster. Luckily Rat was on it, and he too fell.

Why they kept channelling through that little door was a mystery to her.

Then she heard a motor fire up, followed by the squealing of tires on asphalt. With a resounding crash, the front of the clubhouse blew inward, pushed by the front fender of the Town Car. Men swarmed in over the hood.

_Shit._

A man appeared, standing over the table were Chibs had taken cover. She swung around just in time, catching him right in the temple. She was just as surprised by that shot as he had been.

Another sound joined in the chaos, and it took a full few seconds to register. She was a bit busy, but she could swear she could hear sirens approaching –

A tall length of expensive suit blocked her line of sight, and as she looked up he brought the barrel of his Glock up to where she could only see it by crossing her eyes. Her Makarov was pointed the wrong way for defence. Where the hell had he even come from?

"We've been looking for you," the bastard drawled with a thick, Russian accent.

"Why?" she asked stupidly. This was good. He wasn't just killing her.

He just smiled and her blood ran cold. Then, his forehead exploded.

She yelped, covering her head with her arms.

More tires squealed outside, and just like that the shooting stopped. The sudden silence hurt her head, and she brought her face up from under her arms slowly. Chibs was leaning against the table, staring at her, hand on the ground with what was likely a spent pistol next to him. He was holding his left arm to his chest.

"Are you hit?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Just a scratch," he replied with standard tough-guy bravado.

People were shouting in the yard, someone shouting at people to drop their weapons and lay on the ground.

"Is that the cops?" she asked, staying low and scooting next to him.

He nodded, sucking in his breath.

"Let me see," she said, helping him sit up enough pull off his kutte. She set the Makarov down, easing the leather off his shoulders and arms. She saw it right away, the meat of his upper arm sliced open and bloody, the shirt torn away. "I bet that hurts," she mumbled.

"Few stitches and she'll be fine." they shared a small smile before more voices cut through the racket.

"Put your hands up! Lay on your stomach!" A man was shouting with plenty of authority.

Valerie complied easier than Chibs could, and when they tried to wrench his arms back to zip-tie his wrists he gave a cry. "Careful," she shouted at the sherrif's officer. "He's shot."

Her own wrists were bound behind her and she was hauled to her feet and led out into the sunny yard past a few fresh corpses. She was then maneuvered towards the picnic table and told to sit, which she did. There were three more men in leather and jeans sitting on the ground, backs to the office's exterior wall, one of them bleeding down his arm. Likely the one she shot first.

A fourth sheriff's department vehicle pulled into the lot, and she recognized Sheriff Roosevelt as soon as he stepped from the vehicle. His eyes cast over the bloody assembly, finally settling on her.

He strode right for her, and she gulped.

"These are the Russians that were coming here to kill you?" That was all he said. She could only nod, having no idea how the hell he knew that. "Who drew first?"

She shook her head. "I didn't see. I was in the clubhouse. Chibs was out here. He's inside – he was hit."

"Is he gonna make it?"

"Just a scratch," she answered with a smile.

Roosevelt was satisfied with that and waved an officer over. "Cut her ties. She's not going to run or do anything."

"Thank you," she breathed, but Roosevelt was already heading for the clubhouse door. Her hands were free and she stayed where she was, not wanting to cause any more trouble.

Valerie felt someone's eyes on her, however. She looked around the tables where she was, but no one was here. Rat was being brought to sit with her but that wasn't it.

By the bikes. Gemma was standing tall and fierce, watching over the pandemonium, her face unreadable until her eyes fell on Val.

Valerie wasn't sure exactly what happened. Maybe it was the whiskey ebbing off from the sudden adrenalin rush, or maybe it was just the adrenalin itself, but she burst into tears, covering her face and hunching over her lap, breathing ragged.

The footsteps took their long time coming and were paced at tentative intervals. When Val looked up, sniffing and choking to catch her breath, Gemma was standing right in front of her, looking as remorseful and regretful as anything.

Valerie stood, and without a word Gemma wrapped her up in a hug, which Valerie returned as her tears soaked the shoulder of Gemma's shirt.

_Let her think this makes any difference,_ Valerie thought. _Let her think she's been forgiven. _


	65. Chapter 65

Valerie felt sorry for Roosevelt and the officers from the Sheriff's department. Statements were hard to get at the best of times, and trying to categorize and get a timeline of events on something like this likely had them all shaking their heads and wanting to declare loudly, "Fuck it."

But they tried, and Valerie was honest about the sequence of events. There was no way to lie. Plus she'd been separated and questioned right away; she could only hope everyone else was playing it straight as well.

They took her Makarov, which pissed her off. That only left her with a shotgun at home, but she was pretty sure she could get her hands on another weapon if she wanted. Still … it had been her mom's.

She had to tell them which men she'd personally shot herself. She had to tell them about Chibs killing the one that was ready to grab her and run or put a bullet in her or both.

The whole time the voice in her head was reminding her that this was her fault. All of it.

When they asked her to come to the station for holding while they sorted out who could liable for what, Valerie heard the bikes. The rest of the guys were back.

They weren't allowed in the lot. Valerie was being shown to the back of a squad car, but as soon as she heard a voice shout her name she changed direction, heading for the gate, three officers not nearly enough to stop Tig coming for her.

"I'm okay," she was saying as he reached her, but it didn't matter. She was wrapped up in his arms so tight she couldn't breathe, clutching him with almost as much urgency. Her tears came back, shaking her whole body. Yeah, the adrenalin was completely gone now, but everything else felt fantastic.

"They're taking us to the police station," she said when he'd loosened his hold.

"We'll get you out as soon as we can, okay?" he smoothed her hair back and she had to smile.

"I'm sorry you had to come back," she began, crying all over again.

"No, no, Val, don't," he said quietly, pulling her against his chest again. "Don't be sorry, I keep telling you that."

"I know."

"Go with them," he instructed. "Tell them what happened. And don't answer any other questions." His calm tone was exactly what she needed to hear.

The officer behind her cut in with, "Miss Turner? We need you to come with us."

"We'll get you out," Tig promised again, and she did exactly as told.

The officer made sure she didn't hit her head getting in the back of the squad car, and at the police station she was led right to a cell for holding. She hadn't been read her rights, so she knew she wasn't being arrested; this was likely to separate her from everyone else. Either way, she was away from the Popovs. That was good.

She was the only one in the female holding cell. That was also good. Valerie parked her weary ass on the bench, finally noticing that her arms were splattered with blood, from the guy who'd been standing over her probably.

She let her head slide back and lean against the wall behind her, eyes easing closed on their own. Near-death experiences and adrenalin really fucked with a person.

"Miss Turner?" the voice brought her out of the shallow sleep she'd waded into. She jumped, sitting up, wondering why she was on an uncomfortable bench in a jail cell for a half-second.

"Yes?"

"Your lawyer's here."

She frowned. "My lawyer?"

The officer unlocked the door. "Yep. Once you go over your statement with the Sheriff you'll be free to go."

Next she found herself in a room with Sheriff Roosevelt and a woman in a smart navy suit and long dark hair. The woman offered her hand. "I'm Ally Lowen," she offered, slightly friendly but mostly business.

"Valerie Turner," she returned, taking the seat indicated while shaking the stranger's hand.

"Again, a lawyer isn't necessary but it's your prerogative to allow Ms. Lowen to stay," Roosevelt began.

"And I told you, Sheriff, that bringing someone to the police station indicates you might have reason to arrest her, or that you intend to. It's absolutely important that I stay."

Valerie realized neither of them were talking to _her_. It was a stare down between lawyer and lawman.

Roosevelt had a notepad in front of him. All the officers had been carrying them, and Valerie knew her statement was on that one.

"I wanted to speak to you away from the club's ears," Roosevelt began, sending a dose of stink eye towards _Ms. _Lowen. "So you'd feel comfortable telling me whatever you need to."

Ahh, that explained this Ally Lowen's presence. She was on SAMCRO's retainer, protecting their interests. Valerie couldn't fault them for sending her. After meeting her Irish relations she supposed she knew _just enough _to be dangerous.

Roosevelt looked down at the papers. "Your story lines up with everyone else's. We're still waiting for a translator to find out what the Russians have to say."

"Then why is Doctor Turner being held?"

"_Doctor _Turner," Roosevelt began steadily, eyes on her and only _her_. "We received a call indicating that Russian mobsters were coming after you. I find that hard to believe. If there's anything about the _Sons of Anarchy _you can think of that would bring this kind of attention, you _can_ tell me."

She looked at Ally Lowen, who was glaring at the Sheriff. "Doctor Turner's just been through a very traumatic event, and it's not _her _job to investigate possible crime in Charming. It's yours." The woman's tone was biting. She was feisty – Valerie liked her.

And yet at the same time, Valerie realized this could shine unwanted light on the MC when they _really _didn't want it. They were trying to strike a positive business relationship with the Irish, and extra law enforcement attention was certainly _not _going to help with that. Especially since it was a part of _her _baggage, not theirs.

"No, it's true," Valerie insisted. "My entire family was slaughtered by the Popovs in Oakland when I was twelve. They were my mother's family. She stole money from them and ran off with my father. I was in witness protection, they gave me another identity, and I've been Valerie Turner ever since."

Her lawyer didn't bat an eye. She'd known, too.

"The _Sons_ know my past," Valerie continued carefully. "All they were doing was giving me a safe place to stay."

Roosevelt looked like someone had rewritten his whole history. He'd clearly been sure she would hand over damning evidence about illegal activities perpetrated by the _Sons_.

"And how did they find you after all this time?"

That had a fairly easy answer. "I don't really know, Sheriff. "

"Does this have anything to with the attack you suffered just over three months ago?"

Valerie kept her face blank. "I don't know. Those men spoke Ukrainian, like I said. The Russian mafia have little to do with Ukraine."

Another long pause ate up the available oxygen in the room. "You understand I'll be looking into this to confirm," he said eventually.

She nodded. "I expect so. No point in trying to keep it hidden."

He studied her for another moment, then pushed his chair back. "Ms. Lowen, your client is free to go. Thank you for your time, Doctor Turner."

He even _walked _like he was pissed off. She exchanged a lookwith Ally Lowen before they both stood. "Good job," the lawyer offered. "I'm sorry you had to blow your cover like that, but the club will appreciate that you protected them."

"Yeah," was all she could say. Ally Walker led her from the interrogation room through the halls of the Sheriff's department and back outside, where it was getting dark. Two bikes were at the curb, and as soon as he saw her Tig was heading for her again, hugging her so tight it stole her breath. He didn't say anything, just held her like that for what seemed like a long time.

She could see the lawyer talking with Bobby over Tig's shoulder, but she didn't care what they were saying. Her relief wasn't that she was still alive so much as it was from the fact that Tig was back.

"I sent Happy to your house to make sure it was all clear," he told her, backing off a bit to look at her. "That's where I'm taking you right now. Okay?"

She nodded. She'd been doing a lot of that. It took less effort than talking.

Valerie climbed on the back of his bike, wrapping arms around him tighter than was necessary, and let him take her home.

The _Son _with the dead-eye stare and shaved head met them at her door. He used one-syllable words to tell them the place was clear. With just a nod to her Happy Lowman was gone and so was the chill he gave her.

To think she'd once got the same feeling from Tig.

Tig convinced her to shower only by simply reminding her, "You got blood on you, babe." Once under the hot stream she couldn't scrub her skin hard enough, channelling some inner Lady MacBeth, wiping at _damn spots _that only she could see.

Clean and dressed in her flannel pants again with a big sweatshirt this time, she left the bathroom to find Tig standing in the living room, talking on his phone. As she came down the hall he pointed to the kitchen island wordlessly, and she had to grin. He'd poured her a glass of red wine.

"… yeah, she'll be glad to hear it. Thanks man. I'll tell her."

"What are you telling me?" she asked as he ended the call.

"Jax heard from Lowen already. Roosevelt called in your background, trying to see if you'd been given an alternate identity twenty-some years ago. He was told to stand down. CIA are looking into the Popovs already and they don't have time for our little back-water dramas."

Valerie balked at that. "Holy shit. That was fast. But CIA, that's kinda major. What if they start sniffing around?"

"Nah. CIA's looking into whether or not your family sold to certain Afghani forces after Nine-Eleven. That's more their mandate than anything we get up to around here. The _FBI _would be worse for us." Tig's grin was infectious. "Roosevelt was told to leave you alone because you'd been through enough, and said you weren't of any use to the Popovs anyway, so there was no need to follow you. They gave him the option of offering you police protection in the meantime."

"But they might send more to come after me," she said, making herself frown. "I sound so self-important."

"I don't know if they will. This blew up on them, and there's a reason your uncle wasn't one of the guys that came here. He wasn't risking getting caught by CI-fucking-A. He sent out some recon guys and they're all dead or incarcerated now. CIA's picking up the last of the survivors tomorrow." He crossed the room to stand close to her, gazing down at her with the rueful smile she had initially found unsettling on him. Now she knew it was just as much a part of his everyday existence as those blue eyes. "Thank you for telling Roosevelt about the Popovs and you. I know that was to take heat off the _Sons_. We all appreciate it, Val."

She set the wine glass down. "I don't feel relieved yet." It was true. He was pleased as anything about all this but Valerie just felt her doubt grow that everything was any closer to being "done."

He kissed her forehead and took her by the hand. "Come on babe. You just need to sleep. And I'll let 'ya. Eventually."


	66. Chapter 66

"Things have just been going ... really well," June Taylor admitted, smiling at her husband and clutching his hand in her lap while shooting him a look of pure adulation.

Valerie had to smile along with her. Of all the people to have rediscovered love, she was so glad to see it happening to the Taylors. She'd been shocked when they'd first walked through the door for their appointment. June's hair was dyed and cut recently, and she was even wearing make-up. Her clothes were new, pressed, and quite flattering. Actually, going by their clothes, it looked like they'd both been losing weight. They looked fantastic and ridiculously happy.

"Dave, have you noticed a change in June?" she asked almost pointlessly.

"She's ..." his smile to his wife was almost painfully bright. "She's so much happier. And more confident. It's like we've got back fifteen years."

Valerie shook her head. "You guys, this is astounding. I am so proud of both of you. Do you know what the difference has been?"

June smiled back at her. "We don't want to be alone. We don't want to lose each other."

Valerie felt her smile broaden. "This is wonderful, you two. Seeing you guys like this makes me so happy."

"And it was your friend," David piped up. "The last time we were here that biker came busting in and told us to be happy that we had each other. And he was right. All we really have is each other when you think of it. It was enough to fall in love, why the hell shouldn't it be all we need now?"

Valerie felt the surprise on her face. "That's right," she mused. "I'd almost forgotten that."

Their last session had ended early when Tig burst in on them following the death of his daughter. It felt like a lifetime and a half ago. When she thought about it, it _was._

"We didn't forget," David said almost sheepishly.

"David rode a motorcycle in high school," June said, giggling in that private, inside-joke kind of way. "It's one of the things that I liked about him right at the start."

"I brought the bike out of storage," David admitted. "Took June for a ride that first day, we stopped at a turn-off and we ... well, found a quiet spot."

Valerie's mouth fell open. "You two made love out in the open?"

June was blushing. "I don't know what came over him."

"Me?" he exclaimed. "It was _you_. You couldn't keep your hands off me."

"Liar!" she squealed, and he grabbed her, kissing her quickly before letting her go.

Valerie closed her folder. "You guys are amazing. Like I said, I am so proud of you. I want you to remember how _nice _this is, how minor all the other daily life shit is, and just always remember _this_ happiness. Like you said, this is why you fell in love."

June was nodding. "It's you, Doctor Turner. You made us talk about this stuff, made us realize how minor those squabbles are. How cruel it can be to take each other for granted. And thank your friend for us. He was right. Rude and gruff maybe, but ... he was right. It was what you'd been trying to make us realize all along."

Valerie looked at her watch. "That's our hour, you guys. And this had made me feel so good."

June reached into her large leather purse. "I made cookies. For you and ... your _friend._"

Valerie took the offered plastic container. "Well, thank you so much. You don't have to bring gifts."

"June loves baking," David said with ridiculous devotion. "It makes her happy."

They shared another look and Valerie took a moment to hope the cookies were made while June was fully clothed. Then she refused to let herself go there.

The Taylors stood and David shook her hand, June opting to give her a big hug. She followed them out the door amid many more thanks, and even Teresa got a hug from June. Valerie closed the door behind them, locking it with a giggle.

"What's so funny?" Teresa asked, locking her desk drawers.

"Those two just made my week," she said. Teresa smiled back at her.

"They seem bloody happy," Teresa noted, grabbing her purse.

"They made cookies," Valerie told her. "You want them? If they're in my house I will eat them all."

Teresa shook his head. "No, I need to lay off the sweets. I've been to that bakery next door to that one property four times now. Their cinnamon buns are _obscene_."

Valerie had to laugh. "Maybe I _should _go there."

Teresa smiled at her suddenly, stopping the process of packing up her purse. "You are so happy today."

"This was a good day," Valerie declared. "It felt so good to be back."

"I agree. Oh, and don't forget the real estate agent is meeting us tomorrow at 1pm."

"Yep, I remember," Valerie said as the door to her house popped open.

"Ready to go?" Tig loudly asked, leaning on the jamb.

She cast him a look over her shoulder. "Yes. Give me a couple minutes?"

He nodded, casting that off-putting smile at Teresa. "Hey, Blondie. How's your day?"

Teresa bristled, tightening her grip on her purse strap. "Fine, thank you," she said friendly enough.

Tig laughed and left them alone.

Valerie shook her head. "I'm sorry. He knows he creeps you out. He enjoys it."

Teresa shrugged it off. "It's fine. I'm sure I'll get used to him." She forced her smile. "So, what are you doing tonight?"

"Birthday supper for Tig's friend." That was the simplest way to explain to Teresa that one of the _Sons of Anarchy _was another year older, and that was an even bigger deal than for normal people since this guy was the one that made sure most people didn't see _their _next birthday. Gemma insisted on celebrating the birthdays, as Tig had explained it. But a supper with cake for that Happy Lowman seemed bizarre.

"That sounds ... fun."

"What about you?"

Teresa shrugged. "I don't know. I think there's a Cameron Diaz marathon on TV."

Valerie cringed. "That sounds terrible."

Teresa laughed. "I know. It likely will be but ..."

"Ethan hasn't come around, hey?"

Teresa shook her head. "No. I think that whole relationship is kaput."

"You sure you don't want those cookies?"

Teresa shook her head. "Maybe I'm unlovable."

"_No one's_ unlovable." She jerked a thumb towards her living quarters. "You see what's over there? He's actually loveable, as it turns out."

"I don't know that that makes me feel any better." But she was smiling.

"I'm sorry. But be positive. We tend to find people when we _aren't _looking."

Teresa started for the door, then turned back, not meeting her gaze, staring at the floor and awkwardly putting off actually leaving.

"What's wrong Teresa?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Do you think that guy, Juice, will be there tonight? Could I come with you?"

Valerie felt her heart break for Teresa just a little bit. "Aw honey, I would but it's not my party. I'm really just a guest and not too many outsiders come to these things."

Teresa nodded like she'd expected that. "No, I understand. You guys have fun. I'll see you tomorrow though?"

Valerie nodded. "One o'clock, you bet. Take it easy, Teresa," she called after her as she left. She shut all the lights off, closed the blinds in the office and locked the door between her work and home. She unbuttoned her blouse on her way down the hallway, entering the bedroom and heading right to her closet while stifling a yawn and trying to decide how to dress for an assassin's birthday party.

She let the blouse hit the floor along with her baggy linen trousers. She reached for a black, white and red patterned dress with a fitted bodice and flared skirt. As she did so she became aware of a loud crunching. Lowering her arms she saw Tig in her doorway, devouring an apple. His eyes were piercing as he belligerently let them troll over her.

"Can I help you?" she asked nonchalantly, unzipping the dress and pulling it on over her head. Before she could let it drop down she felt his hands on her sides, apple apparently dropped somewhere.

"This is a nice dress," he growled in her ear, giving her a kiss on the neck.

She laughed, shimmying away to let the dress fall into place. "Thank you."

"You don't _have _to dress up," he reminded her, backing away and sitting on the edge of the bed, looking her over.

"I know. But I'd rather _not _look like the hired distractions."

"That's a good idea," he admitted as she crossed the room to stand in front of him. His hands instantly went to her hips again. "Hopefully tonight I won't have to hit anyone."

"That _would _be nice. Oh, and do you remember the Taylors?"

"The who?"

"After what happened with Dawn you burst in on their session telling them to be nice to each other?"

He frowned, then he broke out into a smile. "Oh yeah."

"They are _fixed_. Happy. Back to being in love because of _you_."

"Me?"

"You told them they should be happy to have each other. And I think June thought you were kinda hot, so David pulled his bike out of storage and took her for a ride. Then took her for ... a _ride_."

He smiled up at her. "You can't tell me about your patients."

She covered her mouth. "Oh my God!"

He was laughing now. "I hope it doesn't get around the things _I _told you, Doctor Turner."

"It's just because _you_ apparently shocked them out of numbness."

"Wow. I didn't even go to school," he said smugly, pulling her closer. She straddled his lap, knees on the bed, settling with her hands on his shoulders.

"That's not nice," she warned.

"Don't be so surprised. I told you I had all these charms, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

His hands slid around to her ass. "What time we supposed to be there?"

"In ten minutes," she answered, letting him brush his lips on hers.

"Damn," he mumbled, kissing her fully, tongue teasing at hers.

"When we come back," she promised. "Then I'm all yours."

"What happens if we're late?"

"You tell me. Is Gemma cool with people arriving late?"

He stood up suddenly, setting her on her feet again. "You're right. We gotta go."

"I wish I knew how she does that," Valerie muttered, zipping up the side of the dress.

"What?"

"Keeps you all on a choke collar like that."

"Hey, no one's on a choke collar, sweetheart."

"Sorry, that must be my mistake, then."

"And besides, women have _always _known how to play their men. It's not that difficult."

"That's true." She took his offered hand. "Now let's go before the queen gets pissed."

"Val, be nice."

"I'm always nice."


	67. Chapter 67

The front of the clubhouse was boarded up. The inside had been tidied. Bullet holes were still very apparent on the facade as well as the office. The garage doors had their share of pockmarks as well. But that wasn't all that was drastically different from any other day.

The lot was packed. There were more bikes there than she'd ever seen, extra tables had been set up, and the garage doors were open to allow for the social overflow from the clubhouse. The prospects were playing bouncers on the gate.

Valerie managed to climb off the bike as ladylike as possible, casting her eyes over the assembled bodies in the yard. There were a few Nomads around, as well as patches reading _Tacoma. _Tig had mentioned Happy had been in Tacoma before joining the Nomads. Funny how someone who barely spoke had garnered this many friends.

"Val, my God, is that dress street-legal?"

She turned, laughing. "Hi Juice."

"I'm serious. Look at those legs and the -" he waved his hand over his chest, and she was very aware of Tig stepping up behind her and putting his arm around her stomach.

"The what, Juicey?"

His face blanked. "Nothing."

"Go ahead, finish the thought. It makes her eyes look good, don't it?"

"Yeah. Your eyes are beautiful."

"Juice?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't even look at her eyes."

"Right."

Juice scurried off with a smile at her anyway, and she held Tig's hands that were pressed to her abdomen. "He means nothing by that, you know that?"

"It's rude."

"To you, right? Not me?"

Tig turned her to face him. "Yeah. That likely bothers you, but that's the way it is."

She gave him a quick kiss. "Okay. But it's slightly insulting to _me _that you're so protective. I'm not stepping out on you behind your back."

"I know that, baby. But otherwise I don't get to bust Juice's balls."

"I'd hate to steal that from you. You're right."

"Your tits do look great in that dress though," he noticed, pressing her against him and letting his eyes stray to her chest.

"Oh. Thank you."

"And if anyone else notices I _will _hit them. Hard."

She took his hand, shaking her head. "Let's go find Happy and wish him Happy Birthday."

"I'm trying to find the gift I got him," Tig muttered, following her through the crush of leather-draped and skin-flashing bodies in the lot. Her nervousness about being around these people was non-existent now. The fact that she had Tig Trager in tow meant the men might have given her a crude appraisal but they never would lay a hand on her. And the women wouldn't even look her in the eye.

Except Gemma, that is. She was suddenly _there_, still looking very nervous, but offering Valerie a cautious smile nevertheless. "Glad you guys could make it," she said, pleasant but tight.

"Hey Gem, great party," Tig greeted her easily, giving her a kiss on the cheek. For a split second Valerie felt guilty that she'd been inadvertently _forbidding _Tig from seeing this woman, who he clearly valued as a friend. And then she immediately felt a bit annoyed that he would do this in front of her.

_Get over it, _she scolded herself. She so much as told him she was coming around to Gemma again, ready to try letting bygones be bygones. He wouldn't have done it had she not said that in the first place.

And Gemma's face contorted just slightly as he did it, her hand resting on his arm, looking like she could start crying. This had been hard on her. She had suffered a bit, too.

_Good._

Valerie fixed a smile on her face as Gemma turned those dark and watery eyes her way. "Looks like a rowdy shindig, Gemma."

Gemma laughed at that, wiping her eyes. Tig squeezed her shoulder. Valerie took a moment to marvel how people could mistake him for being nothing but cold. His intuitions about people were astounding.

"It'll lead to noise curfew violations and plenty of debauchery," Gemma admitted, looking around. "But all the good ones do."

"Where's my birthday boy?" Tig asked.

"He was in the ring a few minutes ago. Put some Tacoma clown on his ass."

Tig kissed Valerie's cheek now. "You okay? I'm just going to go find him and tell him what I got him."

"What _did _you get him?"

Tig just winked and headed off, assuming that was a _yes _to his question. She turned back to Gemma with a _What can you do? _smile. Gemma just nodded and put her hands in her pockets.

"That's a lovely dress," she finally said. "Your tits look fantastic in it."

That made Valerie laugh. "You're the only one here allowed to say that."

"Come on, let's get a drink," Gemma suggested, taking her by the arm. "Stick by me and your name remains good."

There were coolers full of ice with bottles of beer by the picnic tables, and Gemma opened one and handed it to her before grabbing one for herself. "Brings you here, tells you no one's allowed to look, and leaves you to your own devices. They never learn." Gemma shook her head while taking a draw on her beer. "I heard about the other night, that Nomad. I heard you broke his nose all on your own."

Valerie nodded as she took a swig, too. "Yeah. Just kind of a ... reflex. Even really big guys get tears in their eyes when you break their nose."

"Lowen told Jax what you said at the police station after the shooting here," Gemma said suddenly, sounding like she was about to say something she was nervous about. "You laid it all out to protect the club. That's ... that's a lot, Val. I want to thank you for that. Just on my own behalf."

Valerie felt something like pity growing for this woman. She had already known the club was Gemma's lifeblood, second only to her son. "The club's taken good care of me during everything," she offered back. "It was the only option."

"_And_ you did it for Tigger," Gemma added. "I can see you get it. The club is his home, too."

"Yeah, it is," she said absently, catching sight of the _Son _question next to the boxing ring. Happy was up on the canvas, leaning over the ropes and clasping hands with Tig while they spoke. Valerie tried not to be shocked by how much ink Happy had. For a second she thought he had been wearing a shirt.

Two other familiar faces entered the picture then, the blonde and redhead bitches she'd pictured killing with her bare hands a few times over. She felt her back stiffen, and her grip on the beer bottle tighten as they flanked Tig, daring to put their hands on his shoulders. Gemma didn't say a word, just tilted her head, catching that something was off.

Then Tig jerked his thumb in the direction of the two skanks, said something to the redhead and walked away grinning, the women staying at the side of the ring, Happy actually _smiling _at them.

Right. The birthday _gift._

She actually laughed at being jealous, after just giving Tig shit for acting like an over-reactive guard dog. And to make her feel even sillier he headed right for her, passing by an entire gaggle of half-dressed crow eaters without a sideway glance, his eyes back on her and her exposed décolletage.

She cast eyes sideways and Gemma was giving her a knowing look. "Enjoy the night," Gemma said. "And I'm glad you're here, Val."

"Thank you, Gemma," Val returned. "Me too."

Gemma winked then set off on another tangent, and before Val could see where she went Tig had her by the hips again. "I should have been paying attention to what you were putting on. This dress is completely inappropriate."

"I think you like it."

"I do. But I think it was made to be _off _within an hour of being put on."

She put her arms around the back of his neck. "Then take me home soon."

"The birthday boy wants to rearrange my nose," Tig informed her, looking regretful.

Valerie frowned. "What's wrong with the gift you got him?"

Tig laughed at that. "Are you worried about the face getting marked or something?"

She flattened a hand to his cheek. "I like your face the way it is, for one thing."

Tig shook his head and gave her another quick kiss. "There is something wrong with you."

"I know."

Tig tiled his head. "I gotta let him win, babe. It's his birthday."

"Don't get too hurt," she whispered. "Remember, I need you fully functioning when we get home. Not bleeding all over."

His lids dropped low, hooded with something dark and sultry that made her breathe through her mouth. "He ain't capable of stopping that, sweetheart."

When he kissed her this time, it was the kind of kiss that could curl your hair and your toes simultaneously. Then quick as a spin he was off again, disappearing into the crowd of leather and long hair. And she was alone again.

The last time that had happened she'd had a mountainous man come onto her not-so-subtly. But after laying that kiss on her she wasn't too worried about a repeat – while being incredibly steamy it was also as potent a "fuck off" message as she could have delivered to anyone on her own.

She leaned against the picnic table, feeling herself smile as Tig climbed in the ring, stripped down to an undershirt, obviously enjoying being the centre of attention at the moment. Waiting for the fight to start he cast his eyes her way, offering a wink before someone rang a bell.

_Male stupidity_, she mused, watching the two men approach each other. _Pure macho bullshit_. And yet she wasn't going to _not _watch.

Blows were blocked and traded, rendered to mere dull noises; sickening thuds since they were both bare-knuckled. Each blow brought the crowd to a cheer, and every time Tig connected a hit she felt a jolt of something resembling a thrill.

Each punch he absorbed she winced at, to the point where she _felt _when he was getting ready to surrender the victory to his brother. Her flinches brought her hands to her mouth, eyebrows drawn together so that she likely looked like she was in some kind of pain. But even as he signalled he was done, eyebrow gashed open and lip bleeding, Tig was still smiling. He and Happy did a man-embrace in the ring before he climbed through the ropes and hopped down again.

She was just glad it was over. Of all the stupid, bone-headed, testosterone-clouded and incredibly fucking hot things he could have done …

He made his way back to her, button-down and kutte in hand, still smiling like a lunatic and looking even more terrifying for all the blood. He moved to kiss her and she kept him at bay with one hand, shaking her head. "You're a mess. You have to clean up."

He had her by the waist, completely unoffended. "It can't be the sweat, babe. I know you like that -"

"You're _bleeding_," she laughed, turning her head so he missed her lips but still got her cheek. Then it appeared he believed her, she knew there was blood smeared on her.

"Shit, sorry babe," he said, roughly wiping her cheek. "I couldn't feel it."

"It's okay," she conceded, letting him very carefully give her a peck on the lips. "But let's get you fixed, Tiggy," she said, turning his face to the side to check out his split lip.

"Did you just call me Tiggy?"

She lowered her hand. "Is that not allowed?"

His grin broadened. "Nah, I like it."


	68. Chapter 68

"Boys are so weird," Valerie muttered, dabbing at the cut on Tig's eyebrow.

"Who you calling a boy?"

Val threw out the wad of tissue paper. "Happy," was her sarcastic answer. Tig just smiled at her, and she couldn't help but plant a kiss on him. For all the _stupidity _it had still been titillating. "You're not missing that?" she asked, gesturing at the bathroom door.

"What?"

"The debauchery. The mindless, commitment-free fun?"

"I had plenty of that, babe."

"I know, but you lone tough guys -"

"We're not lone," he corrected. "We're orphans of a different kind, that's all." His tone changed and his face got serious. "I like that I'm the only one you're with."

She smiled at that, pushing his hair back on one temple to clean up more blood smear.

"I like being around you, Val. I let them bust my balls about it but the truth is ... no one else knows how good a kisser you are. No one else gets to see you naked, gets to see you for your scars. God knows you've seen all mine and it didn't make you run screaming."

She paused, catching his gaze. She had no idea how to respond.

"No one else knows how to touch you. No one knows how great you feel and sound when I make you come. Or hold you when you sleep." She felt the blush rise on her cheeks and she pushed it away to keep cleaning him up. "It's nice to have someone take care of you, but it's even better to have someone to care about sometimes."

She had to smile. "You know what that's called, right?"

"What?"

"Intimacy," she answered, making him smile broadly.

"That fucking _intimacy _again, huh?" Then he was somber again. "Jax wanted to take the club in a safer direction, get away from guns eventually. I fought him on that but … he's right. Look what happened to my daughter. Opie's wife. Clay. Going more legitimate might be a good idea. And none of us are getting younger." He grabbed her, pulling her down onto his lap where he sat on the closed toilet. "Everything else's going mainstream. Less time away from home. Why not have someone _at _home?"

"You've done me good too, honey," she assured him. "You helped me through a lot. With what I went through, you're the only one I could have trusted with what I went through. And I like that I'm the only one that ever gets to hear you talk like this."

"Don't get me wrong," he added, clearly wanting to switch gears. "I have a chance to grab hold of a pretty young thing like you, I'm going to do it."

"Thank you for calling me young," she said with humour, and she saw the twinkle come back in those eyes as his eyes ran down her neck and to her chest again.

"I've got to get you home," he muttered, keeping his eyes right where they were.

"Talk is cheap, Mister Trager. Make it happen."

He kissed her then, his hands clutching her thighs tightly, his tongue doing wicked things to her body while staying in her mouth. She wound her hands in his hair, fisting it tightly like he did to her sometimes. He recognized it, doing the same to her with one hand while the other tried to slide up her inner thigh. She pressed her knees together, trying to part her mouth from his but he had her clasped so tightly she couldn't, laughing into his mouth until he finally stopped.

"Okay," he said, voice hoarse. "We gotta go."

She nodded eagerly, feeling the heat in her face and chest. "Yeah."

Like teenagers sprung from their parents' houses they rushed through the throng, hands clenched tightly, and the whole time she felt like bursting into giggles. They got to the bike in no time, not a single person impeding them. Who knew what brought the urgency on; they just _had_ to be alone. Valerie barely had the helmet on and they were tearing out of the parking lot. To her confusion they didn't head to her house, but flying down the street on a motorcycle was hardly conducive to her asking where the hell he was taking her.

When he stopped on the edge of San Joaquin National Park she was even more confused. She'd been there before to check out the surprising expanse of redwoods, but it was a strange pit stop for this time of night. He pulled into the Point-Of-Interest parking lot, and when he killed the engine she took her helmet off.

"What are we doing here?" she asked as he removed his lid, too.

"Your patients this afternoon seemed to get you pretty worked up about spontaneous outdoor sex," he remarked, looking at her over his shoulder. "Thought you were trying to tell me something."

She looked around them, the highway quiet, strange bird calls the only sound. "Tig -"

"_Natalia,_"he echoed back, his hand lazily tracing circles around her ankle, making her suck in her breath and straighten her back. It made him chuckle. She appreciated that he never made her feel guilty for the effect he had on her. He loved it as much as she did.

"This is a bad idea," she insisted, even as she felt her body tingle to the roots of her hair and he traced his fingers lightly up the back of her calf to stroke behind her knee. "Tig," she echoed, trying to make it sound like she was warning him. It came out like a moan.

"Let's go," he suggested, offering his hand to help her off the back of the bike, then followed suit. "Somewhere private, sweetheart."

She let him lead her into the trees, where the shadows got darker, and she felt her pulse race. First he got in a fist fight, now he was leading her somewhere dark and scary. If this night got any sexier she was pretty sure she wasn't going to make it much longer.

When he suddenly stopped she was about to repeat that this was a bad idea, but before she got a word in he was kissing her deeply and her back arched into his chest, every part of her going loose and limp just from the touch of him. It made him chuckle low, backing her into a redwood, and she forgot where they were. Of course they were going to make love right here and now, what else could they possibly do?

His hand slid up under the skirt of her dress without any more warm-up, touching and stroking her through her underwear. She gasped against his mouth, and he laughed again. "You said this was a bad idea. That's not what this feels like, doll."

She didn't answer, her head rolling back against tree bark. She could barely see him, but those blue eyes flashed slightly in the moonlight. "Tig, please. I don't want to wait."

He kept touching her while taking her mouth again, and she clutched his arms, her legs tightening, the orgasm forcing her up onto her toes as her legs convulsed with it.

He stepped away from her, shrugging out of his kutte and pulling her towards him. He slid the leather up her arms, the weight surprisingly heavy on her shoulders.

"What is this?" she asked breathily.

"You can scratch my back to hell," he muttered, and she heard a zipper in the dark. "But I don't want you getting roughed up by that tree." He froze for a moment. "Don't tell anyone I put that on you."

"I won't," she promised before he hoisted her up to his hips again, moving inside her smoothly but aggressively.

Valerie had never in her life been petite, but she felt small and dainty when he held her aloft like this. Small and dainty but able to bear the brunt of what he did to her every time they made love, that was. That made her feel downright tawdry and hearty.

She was glad she could see his face in these shadows. When she felt the change in his body, his voice and the noises he was making, her body tensed in response, and she clamped her hands on each side of his face, locking eyes with him. He was kissing her, but their eyes were open just to watch each other. She came as he did, gasping into each other's lips, each tightening their grip on the other.

He held her for a while longer, kissing her lazily, taking his time parting their bodies and setting her back on her feet. And to think she'd thought this was a bad idea …

"Come on," he said, voice scratchy in a private way she suspected that she and she alone got to hear, shrugging his kutte back on. "Let's go home."

_Her _house, him calling it_ home_. They weren't in Mayberry but life was painfully perfect.

She was freezing by the time they pulled into her driveway, and she hurried up the stairs, pulling her keys from her purse while he waited. Peggy was barking like a maniac in the backyard, having heard the bike. "The neighbours will love that," she mumbled, dropping the keys and laughing. Tig bent to pick them up from the stairs.

"What are you – flustered?" he was teasing as she heard another noise. Rustling. A twig breaking. Before she could put the events together he tossed her against the wall, screening her with his body, and she simply held his shoulders, trusting that they were not alone nor were they among friends.

"I don't know who you are, but you've got ten seconds to get the fuck off the lawn." The chill in this voice had tensed his whole body, she felt the change and responded by getting scared.

"Not until we've concluded our business." The voice was just as calm as Tig's, coloured with an accent. Not Russian, not quite.

Shit.

Suddenly Tig was reaching behind him and she made room, knowing he was going for a gun. She heard hammers clicking then, at least four.

One wasn't going to make a difference and he froze, knowing the same thing.

"Step away from Natalia," the same voice sounded. "She's what we came for."

"Ain't happening, asshole."

There was the scuffing of shoes on concrete, and the voice came again. "You think you can help her with a bullet in your head, Mister Trager?"

The tense pause was too much. She had her hands on his back, not remembering when she had done it, desperate to know how they'd get out of this. She couldn't see anything and didn't want to know how bad it was.

A few more footsteps, and the change in their echo made her realize someone else was on the stairs now. "Get away from her," the voice snapped, false manners gone.

Tig stepped away from her hands, and the loss of his warmth made her freeze in place. There were five men in suits on her lawn. They all had handguns drawn, equipped with big, fat silencers.

Her pretend "Uncle," Ivan, was there, pistol trained on Tig's forehead, who was complying to such an extent that his eye was twitching. His hands were raised.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"Val honey," Tig said, not taking his eyes off Ivan. "Go inside and call the club. Tell them there are trespassers down here."

She had the keys in her hand, and they were jingling from how she was shaking. She looked from Tig to Ivan.

"Go inside," Ivan instructed. "But do _not _do anything to arouse suspicion or Mister Trager's brains will be fertilizing your grass."

Tig sent his eyes her way finally. They were smart, alert, and trying to tell her something. "Go ahead honey," Tig suggested. "Just … open the door."

He was trying to tell her something, but she was terrified for him. It was messing with her IQ.

"Take the keys and _open the door_."

She frowned at the key chain, still not used to the security system fob –

_Oh for fuck's sake, _she scolded herself. The _alarm_.

She turned to the door, slid the key home, and pushed the door inwards.

There was a pause while everyone started forward to the house, then the alarm started screaming like an electronic banshee.

Someone was spitting out words in Ukrainian that she assumed were curses. There was a strange, metallic and echoey "thunk." Val spun just in time to see Tig drop as Ivan moved towards her, shouting, "Turn it off!"

All she could see was Tig on the ground, nothing else mattered. She froze. Sound stopped. Ivan caught her around the waist, hustling her backwards. She fought against him but another thug grabbed her as well, carrying her back into her foyer before slamming the door shut.


	69. Chapter 69

"Fucking _idiot_," Ivan was snapping at one of his henchmen, a hard shot to the jaw taking the larger man down to one knee. "Now there's a body on the lawn. Turn off the lights!"

Another thug rushed to the light switches by the door, flicking them all until the porch light died. Valerie rushed for the door, but Ivan grabbed her again, tossing her into the living room and onto her sofa. So she ran to the window, pulling the blinds apart, trying to see if he was moving. It was dark out. She couldn't see anything.

"Get her away from the windows!" Ivan instructed one of them. "And make this fucking alarm stop!"

Part of her brain was reminding her it had to squelch for at least thirty seconds. And it didn't trigger some phone operator to place a call, either. It led right to the clubhouse, where Juice would get a notification on a computer, and if it wasn't answered in a certain amount of time it went to his cell phone.

Ivan grabbed her arm roughly, but she was sputtering and weeping, none of it an act to delay until the _Sons _came running.

He hadn't been moving when he hit the ground, she knew it.

"Turn that alarm off," he snapped, and she just blinked at him like she didn't understand. He backhanded her forcefully, spinning her head around and sending her down onto her coffee table. She cried out, catching herself with her hands before she could crack her head on it. He wrenched her back to her feet and dragged her to the keypad. "Turn it off," he snarled close to her ear.

She did, her hand shaking as she hit the four numbers that made the ringing stop. Then she tried for the door again but he stepped in front of her, pushing her back into the living room.

"Is he dead?" she was sputtering.

"With any luck, yes. And soon you will be wishing the same for yourself."

She crumpled, but he caught her and dragged her to the hallway. "Watch the doors, the garage. You see or hear anything you come get me, but not unless it's an emergency!" he was shouting.

He shut them in her room, tossing her against the foot of her bed. She hit it with her hip and landed on the ground on her side, feeling wretched and not even scared. She had to get help for Tig –

"Now, Natalia Boyle. You gave our Popov friends some trouble. They're running out of western resources, so I am here."

She shook her head. "I thought you were a Yanvek," she stalled.

"No. I am an associate of the Popovs. We run some underground gambling interests for them in LA."

Her head was spinning. This was sounding familiar.

"Oh no," she groaned.

"Luka was one of ours. Sent to collect a little extra from one of our customers, but his keen eye saw more opportunity here than a few bucks for scaring you back to those bikers." He leaned over, grabbing her chin in his hand cruelly. "What a find. _Anastasia_."

"You bastard," she wept. "If you've killed him I swear to God -"

"What? Please, I'd been more than entertained by any threats you could make to me." He pulled out a Glock, no silencer, and pressed it under her chin, pointed upward. "Up," he instructed, giving her no choice but to comply as he pulled up on the weapon.

"I'll kill you," she promised. "I will live to see you bleed."

He was delighted by that. "That would be quite a trick." He stepped closer, shoving the barrel tighter into her throat. Then his eyes dropped down to her exposed skin. "I don't think I want to kill you just yet, though."

Valerie let herself laugh. "For some reason the thought of your cock doesn't frighten me in the least."

He hit her again, and she spilled onto the carpet, head spinning this time. She fought to straighten her equilibrium. Ivan stood over her, pressing the Glock to the inside of her knee, working it upward under her dress. She clenched her knees together, wrapping her hands around the barrel. She wasn't fighting to _not get raped_, she was fighting to take his gun. Thankfully his trigger finger was on the guard.

"So they're paying you to kill me," she was shouting, getting her senses back. "So just fucking _do _it."

"Not yet," he muttered. "It's gotta hurt. You know how Popovs do this."

He punched her this time, and she tasted blood in her mouth as he dropped over her. He tried to pin both her hands with just one of his own, but he underestimated how strong she was. She fought like mad, knowing they'd kill her anyway so what was the worst that could happen?

Plus … she had to get to Tig.

He put the gun down when she pretended as though she was tiring, and he held her wrists against the carpet. "I will reopen your scars. I will make you scream, Natalia."

Her tears were real but they weren't for _her_. It made her stronger.

She brought her head up right into his nose, forehead cracking his cartilage. He let up on her hands, covering his face. There was no hesitation or time to aim and prepare. She grabbed the Glock one-handed and fired, catching him in the face. He collapsed onto her, dead, and she shrieked before pushing him off. Then she realized there were four more outside.

She had to keep her head. Someone pounded on the door and she was trying to figure out how much time it would take for Juice to get worried, and then how long it would take help to get to here. It could have only been six or seven minutes tops since the alarm went off.

She crouched down against her dresser facing her door. She looked at the clock on the nightstand, guessing that by now someone was leaving the clubhouse. It took ten minutes to drive here obeying traffic laws.

Four minutes for the Sons of Anarchy.

"Ivan? Everything okay?"

She looked to the body. She decided she could stall. "Please!" She shrieked, and it took no effort to sound hysterical. "Please help me!"

She reached up over her head, finding a perfume bottle she'd left out, and hefted it across the room. Her mind was racing to find ways to buy time before they came through that door. Letting them assume she was putting up a hellcat of a fight was her one and only idea.

She kept screaming, shrieking, throwing shit around, made braver by the fact they weren't knocking on her door anymore. It was just a hollow-panel number with a standard privacy lock. There was absolutely nothing there protecting her other than her own dramatics.

Eventually that would change, but she had to keep them confident she was still useful to Ivan until help came. The thought of Tig was too much – it would send her into full-blown panic if she started hypothesizing whether he was okay or not.

She thought she could hear it, in the distance, faint but unmistakable. Straight pipes on Harleys, roaring louder than anything she was doing. She screamed once, fired a shot into the ground, then waited, dead silent.

_Get here fast guys_, she was chanting to herself, trying her damndest not to say it out loud. Her charade wouldn't last much longer.

Sure enough there was a knock, quiet and respectful. "Ivan? Is it done? I think we have company." Knock again. "Ivan?"

She stayed crouched against the dresser, waiting for the door to open. She saw the handle turn, knew it wasn't even locked, and slowly he pushed it open. "Ivan?"

She only saw his forehead come around the edge of the door. It was enough to tell her where the rest of his head was. She fired the Glock twice, felt the kick, and watched holes tear through the door, blood hitting the door jamb. He fell sideways into the room, the door coming open with him. She darted to the washroom, standing just inside the doorway, arm extended out shoulder height, perpendicular to the door, watching for someone to come around _that _corner next.

"Mikael?" Another voiced shouted down the hall. Then she heard excited Ukrainian shouting, and footsteps coming her way, cautiously. When the next torso came into view he was looking down at Ivan's body, unaware of the layout of her bedroom, obviously. No hesitation. She fired twice again, catching his temple. That was a messy close-range one.

She dropped back to the bathroom, aware she'd penned herself in now. But there were only two left and the sound of bike motors were getting _very _loud. Plus these guys were a lot more cautious and careful than the men who'd attacked her months ago. It was eating up time.

The footsteps stopped at the doorway, and she could hear them whispering to each other. She was hoping they'd decide it wasn't worth it and leave, but if they were adequately scared of the Popovs they'd have to run pretty damn far.

She crouched, leaving the bathroom dark, watching that square of light and hoping nothing on her was too terribly reflective. A form edged in the side, a silhouette really, and she held her breath, knowing the second man was right behind him and would know very damn well where she was, but choices were limited. She fired again, twice. She caught him the chest at least once, and he fell to one knee, raising his hand towards her, clutching his own Glock with the silencer still attached. She fired again, this time hitting an important part – the forehead. He fell backwards, no shots fired.

She exhaled loudly and waited. Like expected, the second man came in shooting, and she covered her head, lucky that he didn't seem to consider she might be on the ground.

She got herself together again, clutching Ivan's gun with both hands, waiting as the shadow reached out and turned on the light. She had him sighted, and as the lights in the room came on he saw her, starting slightly. She pulled the trigger.

There was a horrible _click click_. Ivan hadn't even brought a fully loaded magazine when he came to kill her.

The man over her had grey eyes. For some reason she wanted to really _notice _the man that was going to kill her. Shaved and shining head. Clean-cut all around, wearing the hell out of the tailored suit he had on. He could have been handsome if he hadn't been there to kill her.

She dropped the Glock and he smiled, striding forward, gun out. She just closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall, and waited.

A shot sounded just as a wet spray covered her arms and face. She opened her eyes, startled, as the man was falling forward onto his knees with blood running from a hole in his forehead, eyes unseeing and dead already. He started to fall forward and she scooted out of the way.

_Stroke of luck number fifteen-thousand, five hundred and who-the-fuck-knows. _Chibs was standing in her bathroom doorway, arm still extended, gun trained on the dead man's back.

She cried out at the sight of him, covering her mouth and squeezing her eyes closed. She was shaking head to foot. It was as though she'd come back from the dead and wasn't even sure she appreciated it.

"Val," Chibs said, and his voice wasn't relieved that she was okay. He didn't sound glad to see she'd made it. It was a cold, dead tone that made her not want to open her eyes. "Val, you have to come see him."

* * *

_**This story's almost done and I've loved writing for you all. I was in tears as I finished it just because you have all been so much fun. Reviews and comments welcome as always.**  
_


	70. Chapter 70

Valerie couldn't remember how she'd come to be holding Juice's hand. She didn't recall leaving her bedroom, walking down the hallway and out the door with Chibs.

But she'd always remember that Chibs was silent as the grave, his hand trembling and freezing cold as he helped her up from the bathroom floor, and Juice's eyes were completely watered up with tears as he brought her down the steps. She already knew, and they all but had to drag her from the house, as though not seeing would make it reverse, change, fix itself.

Bobby, Happy and Jax were all gathered on the ground around him. Jax had hold of his hand and was talking. She felt relief flicker; even with the solemn faces she felt _something _like hope_._ He was talking. He could hold Jax's hand.

Juice brought her to the assembled Sons, and when they saw her they all stood, turning away, wiping eyes and trying not to look directly at her or anywhere else.

_No, _her head was crying out. _No no no nononono_ …

His shirt had been opened to assess the damage. There was blood. A lot of blood, right in the centre of his chest. She dropped to her knees, shaking her head and not knowing how to make the bleeding stop. "Jesus," she gasped through tears. "Oh Jesus, Tig." It was mostly to herself.

"Val. Babe."

The voice brought her back in tune, like a switch had been thrown. She crawled up next to him, taking his hand he was holding up to her. She locked eyes with him, trying to smile.

"Who's blood is that?" he asked, and she almost laughed but it came out like a sob.

"Not mine. I promise."

That made him smile, but it looked difficult. "Good. Good girl."

She nodded. "Chibs got there in time."

"That bastard always gets to save you, doesn't he?" he was making a joke, and the last of her hope sparked.

"You get to take me to bed," she reminded him.

"That's a better deal."

She looked up, and only Jax was watching them. "Where's the ambulance?" she demanded. "How much longer?"

"Val." Tig's voice was so weak-sounding.

Jax shook his head and looked away, his eyebrows coming together with emotion. She had a horrible feeling.

"Val," Tig repeated.

"Jax – did you call an ambulance?" He refused to look at her.

"They're not going to," Tig answered, and she swung her head back to him.

"What?"

"They're not going to, babe. I'm sorry."

"Why the hell not? Tig -"

"Can't feel my legs," he cut her off, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "It's through my back, babe. My legs are dead. I'm numb from the chest down."

She frowned, tightening her grip on his hand. "So? They stop the bleeding and you might be fine -"

"Can't ride," he said pointedly, apology all over his face along with the hurt.

"People get their legs back all the time -"

"And sometimes they don't," he finished, argument done by the sharpness of his tone.

She dropped her head to his chest. "No, don't do this," she was moaning.

"Val, baby. Please don't ask me to choose that or you, _please,_" now his voice caught, and he squeezed her hand. "Val, look at me. Let me see those eyes. Please, babe."

She did as asked, a weeping, snivelling mess. "Tig …" she couldn't take the thought anywhere, it was just a pleading request.

"Not everyone gets to pick how it happens," he said, trying to sound light about it. "It's been a good day, babe."

"Don't," she begged. "Please. Tig. I love you."

He smiled. "Why the hell would you go and do something like that?"

"I love you. Please. Stay with me."

His other hand came up to her face. "Hey. I told you. I can't leave you. I'm being taken, that's the difference."

She shook her head, knowing it was selfish but saying it anyway. "You're leaving me. You're giving up."

"Even if I don't it's still _done_. You know that. You think I'm a miserable bastard _now_? Imagine me having to piss into a bag the rest of my life." He was trying to make her laugh, but he knew very damn well she wouldn't. His tone softened. "Please babe. I can't do that. I can't take you looking after me as a cripple. And I know you'd do it, too. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she whispered. Shit, she couldn't give him anything to feel guilty about. Not now. "I know. I get it. I'm sorry."

His thumb ran down her cheek. "You're going to be fine. You're tougher than anyone I know. God knows you'll be fine. And I'm so glad for _you_. I'm grateful, Val." He trembled then and she squeezed tighter. He smiled. "I can still feel _that_."

She pressed into him, stretching over him to kiss him. He kissed her back very weakly. "I can still feel _that_ too," he repeated against her lips.

"I love you."

"There's something wrong with you."

Damn it, he was going to say it. Even if it _was _the last thing he did. "I love you, Tig."

"Val, I love you, too."

"What kind of crow you going to get me?"

"Side-profile. About to take flight, wings out behind the body." He smiled. "A strong, clean, black and grey piece. Contrast to that dragon."

"I love it."

"Where you putting it?"

"Lower back, over the bullet wound."

He closed his eyes, smile broadening. "Perfect." He coughed. It looked like it hurt, and his eyes looked … _different_. Not nearly as sharp and bright. But he was still breathing. "That's a nice, _intimate_ spot."

She had to allow a laugh. That whole _intimacy_ thing. She kissed him again, then she stretched out next to him on the grass, letting him hold her hand to his chest, almost at the hollow of his neck.

"I wish I had time to get sick of you," he mumbled, and she squeezed his hand as he laughed at that. She wasn't going to laugh.

Valerie couldn't tear her eyes off his profile, clocking his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against her. They were getting farther apart.

"Hey, remember what I said," she whispered, suddenly dry and not crying. She wasn't sure what had changed, but she was determined to stop weeping. "I love you."

"Love you, Val."

It took mere minutes. When the last exhale left and another inhale wasn't forthcoming, Val sat up, pressing two fingers to the side of his voice box. Nothing. Quiet.

Too fucking quiet.

His eyes were vacant. Dull. They told her what she needed to know; he was gone.

She looked up, eyes hot and filling up, to see Jax dialling on his cell phone. What struck her then was how _still _the world has become. She was surrounded by men she knew to be loud and boisterous. And the sound of bikes and gunfire should have had her neighbourhood bustling. Hell, even the dog wasn't barking.

There was just a breeze. No one was talking until Jax gave an address requesting an ambulance and police. His voice trembled.

She still held his hand. No one tried to separate them. They all just stood, or crouched around, tears falling silently, each locked in their own mourning just like she was. It was like a protective fence of his brothers, watching over him while they waited for the EMTs.

Everything hurt. Her face was throbbing from being hit. She knew her lip was swollen and split. Her back was aching, probably from being tossed around. But the worst was the giant, gaping wound right in the middle of her chest where someone had just ripped her heart out by the roots. It made it hard to breathe. She was gasping, crying forgotten, wondering how the hell she was going to get enough air without her heart when a hand fell on her shoulder. She tried to look up to see who it was, but a black veil descended, pulling her under and into darkness.

...

"Val? Val, sweetheart, open your eyes for me. Val?"

Someone had her head in their hands, and she was on her back somewhere comfortable. She let her eyes flicker open, relieved. Thank Christ, she'd been dreaming.

Chib's face swam into focus, and just as she was about to thank him for waking her she realized it hadn't been a dream at all. He had blood spatter on his face. She was in her living room on the couch. And there were two-way radios filling up the room with squawking voices.

"No," she tried to push him off. "No, it wasn't real."

"Val, look at me. Are you alright?"

Her heart ached. She winced, face crumpling in on itself from the pain. "No, let me pass out again. Please. I don't want to be here."

He didn't have much to comfort her with. He was clearly upset as well, looking wretched and miserable and likely as pained as she was. Yet he was still worried about her.

"Did you hit your head?"

"No," she groaned. "I'm fine. I just … I don't want to be here."

He pulled her up to sit by her shoulders and hugged her, on his knees on the floor next to her. After a second she hugged him back, wrapping her arms around him tight, crying and snivelling and burying her face in his kutte. Not a comfortable surface but it didn't matter.

"Does your arm hurt?" she asked, dimly remembering the grazed bullet would. She needed to think about something else … _anything_.

"Val, oh Val. I'm so sorry."

He was shaking. She knew he was crying, and right then the thought of that cut her deep. "_I'm_ sorry," she insisted. "It's my fault. This is all my fault."

"We're going to need her statement," an official voice said from behind Chibs.

He gave her one last squeeze, then backed off. "You don't have to talk to them now," he said, voice breaking. "You can ask to talk to them later."

Valerie looked up to the female officer, recognizing her from somewhere. "Can we do this later?" she pleaded.

"Where will you be?" the woman's voice was kind, gentle. She was the one Valerie had thrown out of her hospital room after her attack. She'd acquired some bedside manners since then.

"We'll take her to the clubhouse," Chib said, gazing up at her from where he sat. She nodded her agreement.

When he stood he paused halfway up to kiss her temple, and the gesture brought a hot flood of tears again, making her cover her face. Tig always did that.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's go."

Time morphed between the living room, the yard and the van. Someone gave her a pill on the ride to the clubhouse and she took it without question, hoping like hell it was going to knock her out for a week. Peggy's heavy head was in her lap, and she wondered when someone had thought to check on the dog.

Chibs led them both out of the van and into the club, guiding her through the main room and down the hall. He pushed open the door to Tig's room, and she wanted to start crying again, but her head hurt and she honestly felt she had nothing left. She sunk down on the edge of the bed, still feeling like she was just watching a movie and couldn't interact or interfere to change the course of events.

Chibs set a glass of water on the nightstand, stared down at her for a minute, sank to his knees and removed her shoes without a word. He then turned to leave. She let him walk out, and when he started to ease the door closed she found her voice. "Leave it," she croaked. "Leave it open. Just a bit?"

He nodded, turning off the light and doing just as she asked. She swung her legs up onto the bed and let her head hit the pillow. Peggy silently curled up behind her knees, crowding her more than she ever had before. That pill was the only thing that ensured she slept.


	71. Chapter 71

**These last two chapters and the epilogue are a bit longer than what you're used to, but I couldn't chop them up and I didn't want to draw out the denouement to this tale. Thank you so much for your kind reviews - I'm totally blown away that many of you got so attached to Val's world. I did, too!**

* * *

Two days to put together a funeral. No one asked her for help. They left her alone in Tig's room, unable to get out of bed. They only came in to take Peggy for a walk or feed her, but inevitably the dog would find her way back to the bed, sticking very close.

Valerie could smell Tig on the pillow. She didn't want to let it go.

The police had come to talk to her, but she knew there wasn't much she could tell them they couldn't tell with evidence and ballistics. She actually couldn't remember what she _did _tell them.

The morning they were going to say goodbye to Tig before burning him, Gemma came to the room, somehow herded Valerie into her Cadillac and drove her home to get cleaned up and changed.

Valerie hadn't showered since that night. She was still in that fucking ridiculous dress. She tore it off once she was standing in the main bathroom, sick to her stomach at the sight of it. Then she stared at herself in the mirror. She still had blood on her hands, and she could see now where she'd missed wiping it off her face.

She hated to admit it, but the shower felt good. It cut through the numbness and her own self-pity. If Tig saw her like this he'd give her shit. She knew it.

The only thing she tried to feel right then was anger. And she knew who to direct it at, too. The woman was standing in her kitchen making her coffee.

She left the bathroom wrapped in a towel and returned to her bedroom, the mess left behind another hit that brought her out of her shock. There was blood and broken glass all over her carpet, bodies long gone. She was careful with each footstep until she was in front of her closet, pulling the doors open.

She pulled a black office skirt from a hanger, grabbed the only black suit coat she had, and then settled on the blue-green silky shirt she'd worn weeks ago to bring out her eyes and welcome Tig home from the road.

It was a lifetime ago.

She carried the clothes to the hall bathroom and dressed in there. She didn't want to see any of the Tig artifacts that she knew were still in her bedroom and en suite. She couldn't handle that.

Valerie let her hair hang straight to air dry. She didn't put on make-up. It was fortunate she remembered deodorant. Her brain was trailing behind her by about two days.

In the kitchen Gemma wordlessly handed her a cup of coffee. Val took it with a weak "Thank you," standing by the island and drinking it right there like it was cough syrup. She'd barely eaten and her stomach rolled as the caffeine hit it but she finished the entire mug in one swig.

"Val," Gemma said gently. "Maybe you'd like some air. We've got a few minutes. You want to sit on the patio?"

She shook her head. Her gut heaved further at the thought. "Absolutely not."

"Okay." Gemma tried again. "What _should _we do? Do you want to just head back right away?"

"Sure. I don't want to be here."

"One last thing," Gemma said quietly, reaching into the pocket of her jacket and pulling out a piece of silver. Val felt her heart kick at the sight, knowing what it was before Gemma handed over the ring with the vicious reaper head on it.

She took it, hand unsteady. "I wanted to make sure you got one of them," Gemma explained.

How many times had his hand touched her wearing this thing? She didn't want to think about it. She slid it on her thumb, the only place it fit. "I'll … I'll get a chain for it later."

Back into the Caddy they went and returned to the clubhouse just as bikes and riders she didn't know were pulling up. They all greeted Queen Gemma, and somehow seemed to know Val as well. They gave her respectful head nods as Gemma led her into the clubhouse.

Val froze, only making it as far as the doorway. She could see into the chapel and the casket that was inside. She started to tremble, and Gemma all but pushed her up to the bar. "Okay Val, just take it easy. I think you're going to need some medicating to get through this." She went through her large purse, eventually handing her a blue pill along with a couple ounces of vodka.

"What is this?" Val asked.

"Valium," Gemma answered. "You'll thank me, trust me."

"I don't know," she began weakly.

"Look at your hands, honey."

She did. They were shaking uncontrollably, and her analytical side was telling her she needed to be clear-headed to deal with what was happening and get a grip on her grief. Her aching, heartbroken and pathetic side told her to just take the pill. Her issues would still be around to deal with after.

She washed the Valium down with vodka. She was so numb she was sure side effects wouldn't be a concern.

Gemma was watching her closely, obviously unsure what to do with her now. They were ready for the ceremony, whatever it was going to be, the room was filling up with people. And Val was as easy to haul around as a sleeping cat.

Chibs stepped in, of course. He was always there.

"Come on, Val. You've got a place at the table."

He led her by the elbow to the meeting room and Val followed without question. She was glad to see it was a closed casket. It was bad enough to see the leather kutte draped across the top, a bullet hole through the reaper's skull.

She didn't want to see Tig this way, anyway. She wanted to remember him alive, loud, sarcastic, crude, pushy and shocking. And she certainly didn't want to see him with his eyes closed; she needed to remember those eyes.

Things were said. People were crying around her. Chibs had his arm around her shoulders, she was aware of that. He seemed to be leaning on her as much as she was leaning on him.

Val absently wondered if Tig's remaining daughter was there. She'd never met her. If she _was _Val would have no way of knowing. The women in the adjoining room were _all _mostly unfamiliar.

The room was asked if anyone cared to say a few words. Stories were told, laughs were shared, but Val was apart from it even as she was surrounded by it. Last call was given to contribute, and Chibs shook her shoulder, bringing her face around to look at him.

She just shook her head. She wasn't talking. She wasn't going to tell any of these people anything. Her recollections were all far too private for strangers.

Shot glasses were passed around. A toast was given by someone, shots downed, then the room began to empty.

She followed Chibs again, and he led her from the meeting room though the clubhouse. Passing into the lot Valerie noted that Teresa had attended, which would have been shocking if she'd been feeling anything at all. She caught the blonde's eye and nodded her appreciation. Teresa bit her lip while nodding back, her eyes red.

Chibs held the hearse's door open - she was riding in it with Gemma. Everyone else on a bike was leading the way to the crematorium.

Valerie stared wordlessly out the window and Gemma sat on the opposite side doing the same. She couldn't say it was uncomfortable silence, it just … _was_ what it _was_.

Valerie remained locked in her head, her tremors gone, everything light and floating, the world just happening around her without affecting her. The only thing marking the passage of time was the absence of something terribly important.

She was on standby. Waiting for shock to wear off.

The numbness was broken when the casket was pushed into the crematorium oven. She felt a panic, like maybe they got it wrong. Tig was actually okay, just trapped. The worry was totally irrational and she fought not to act on it, to _not_ go running up to the fellow operating the conveyor and beg him to open it just to make sure. The effort of staying put made her pulse increase, her palms were damp, and she could feel the sweat running down her sides. Her head felt light again.

This was final, she realized. This made it very real that he was gone. No more laughing, shouting, making inappropriate jokes, swatting her on the ass or bossing her around. No more being the loudest, most unpredictable part of her day.

No more playing with her hair while she fell asleep. No more kisses that curled her toes. No more caresses that brought gooseflesh up and down her body. No more being the most important thing in the world to her.

The door slammed shut behind the casket. It took her breath right out of her lungs, and she realized she still hadn't cried that day. She couldn't be done. She could never cry enough to make this better.

Chibs had hold of her arm again and was leading her out of the crematorium, and the fresh air felt lovely. It was a beautiful day, the cemetery was lush and green. She stopped for a moment, putting a hand to her head. The world swayed a bit, and Chibs put his other hand on her hip.

"Val? You alright? You just went pale, love."

His voice sounded like it was underwater. She closed her eyes, trying to force her equilibrium to straighten out. It wasn't working.

She leaned closer to Chibs. "I don't feel well," she whispered, just as the world went dark.

...

Two blackouts just days apart. If it hadn't been for her life being in danger and she hadn't been emotionally damaged and distraught for a month straight, she might have put it together a bit quicker for herself. But no, it took Gemma Morrow to spell it out.

"Honey, you're pregnant."

Valerie buried her head in her hands, leaning over her lap in the hearse, trying to block everything out.

"I'm just saying you better buy a test and check because I was the same way with my first one."

She was shaking her head, denying that it could be true. She didn't need anything else to deal with at this point. "I … I can't be … I just can't be."

"Because it's a bad time right now?" Gemma's smile was kind. "They don't really seem aware of schedules."

"But … but we always …"

Gemma raised an eyebrow. "Wore a condom? Yeah, me too. Both times."

"Jesus. I just took Valium with vodka."

Gemma waved a hand. "How far along could you really be?"

She shrugged. "I … I can't remember. Stress always messes up my cycle, I just thought …"

"Valerie, you're not entirely on your own here, honey." Gemma leaned across the seat to grab her hand. "That's a _Son's _baby you're carrying. Anything you need, we're here for you."

That straightened her back. At the very thought of a baby being raised in this she heard some voice pronounce _No child of mine is going to have anything to do with this bitch or her God forsaken club. _

Valerie frowned, hand going to her abdomen. Yeah, that happened. The mere suggestion of a pregnancy and she was already in full-on momma bear mode. She hadn't even peed on a stick yet …

But she _knew_. She did. The fainting. The nausea that day. Not having her period in … two months? And a lot of sex between then and now. A _lot_.

"We'll get a test," Gemma promised, patting her hand now. "You'll find out for sure. Then you get your head right. Okay?" Valerie nodded. "We'll take care of you, Val. I promise."

At the clubhouse Gemma left her side for a moment, off in deep conversation with a tall, thin and stunning blonde woman Valerie knew she'd met … right. The widow from the funeral she'd attended here before, Opie's wife. _Lyla_, her brain filled in for her. At least one part of her body was starting to wake up.

The women both cast a look her way, and the pity in the young thing's eyes was too much to take. Valerie felt like throwing up again. There goes Gemma and her big fucking mouth. She'd really rather be alone to figure this out. For _herself_.

Gemma headed for her again, drawing her to the hallway. "Lyla's running to the drugstore. She'll bring back a few tests, just to be sure."

"You know Gemma, I'd really rather keep this private."

Gemma took her by the shoulders. "Val, this is not something you want to be alone for. Okay? When I had Jax, John was in prison. My mother wouldn't come to the hospital. You're going to need support, sweetheart. You can hate me all you want but on this, I promise, I know what I'm talking about."

Valerie knew she was in over her head. She'd never had a motherly instinct, never been remotely interested. Other people saw babies and went gooey. She was just scared to break them. She had no idea what she was in for.

No, she wasn't letting Gemma get to her like this. She probably got Tara the exact same way, and then when Tara wanted to get her boys out of Charming she was mysteriously thrown in jail. This was standard gang-culture bullshit, this tripe about _we're the only people you've got that care_.

It wasn't happening to her. She wasn't going to get trapped like that by this woman.

Although, there was no reason for Gemma to know that.


	72. Chapter 72

**One last bit of nasty business for Val. Don't be mad at her ... she'd going through a lot. Epilogue to follow this final chapter. **

**Thank you again for following and commenting and reviewing. **

* * *

A doctor's appointment three days later confirmed what the home test had already told her. Pregnant. Over six weeks along, roughly. _Maybe _as much as eight weeks.

Only Gemma and Lyla knew. She made them swear they wouldn't tell anyone else.

Valerie had already started the process of skipping town months before. Getting back into that frame of mind was easy once she realized there was a baby on board. Some expectant mothers were reading baby books and picking names and buying cribs and shit. She was trying to live as thin as she could so she could disappear without anyone even knowing she'd been planning it.

It focused her. She had no time or energy to pity herself, mope around or sulk. Everything became clear, what she had to do was so simple now. She once again had to put the practice on hiatus, and she knew Teresa was likely beyond done with her by this point. She'd make it up to her. She already knew how. She felt guilty about taking off on her assistant since she was the only person she'd miss here.

That was a lie, too. One she kept telling herself but didn't bother correcting to herself, either. She wouldn't, _couldn't_ think about how Chibs would react. He'd been everything she could expect in a friend.

He came by every day to make sure she hadn't cut her wrists or hung herself from the shower curtain rod. He sent the prospects and a carpet cleaner over to clean up the mess from that night her world completely shattered into a million pieces. He even had them cutting the grass the first week after the funeral, like she was completely inept suddenly. It made her paranoid that Gemma had told about the pregnancy, but the woman insisted she'd kept it zipped and assured her there was no _way _Lyla would dare say a word.

Valerie also knew he'd been married once and had a daughter. Maybe he'd drawn conclusions all on his own.

When Valerie had gotten to the point where she was drawing all her savings out of the bank her nerves really started to get jangly. She thought it must be _so _obvious that she was leaving. Her shit was in order, all that remained was one last detail to take care of. One last task that made her sick, but she had to do it. It would be the final tie cut. This was ensuring no one would come after her or _want _to come after her.

She called Chibs on his cell, around nine o'clock at night, asking him to come over. She had a favour to ask of him. He said he'd be right there.

Her stomach was twisted in knots. Her palms were sweating.

Twenty-five minutes later he was rumbling up her driveway and knocking on her door. She let him in and wordlessly walked to the kitchen island. She picked up the manila envelope on the island and slid out the papers. She pushed them towards him and stepped back, not looking at him.

"What's this?"

"I need you to sign as witness," she said, handing over a pen.

"To what? You're … selling your house?"

She nodded, looking at only the papers. "To Teresa. For a dollar. She can sell it, keep it, either way … that's her severance pay. She just has to take it to the bank and a lawyer and it's done. Counts as a private sale."

He was silent and unmoving. Valerie risked a glance at him and wished she hadn't.

"Why don't you need your house, Val?"

He very well knew. She looked at her hands, clenched in front of her. "I'm leaving, Chibs. I can't stay in this house, in this town. I need to get away …. From _everyone_."

"Val -"

"Please don't try to talk me out of it. This is difficult. I only trust you. And that's why I'm asking you to do this part." Her voice broke and it was real.

It fell silent again. She raised her eyes to his. The look on his face was awful, he was ready to beg. "Don't go, Val. Please." His voice broke.

She couldn't take that hurt, that tone. "And what? Let everyone take care of me? How long does that last?"

He sighed. "I'm going to ask you again; don't go." He met her eyes. He had tears in his and he was fighting them. Watching the tough guy in him trying to win out was breaking her heart.

But her exit plan did not include giving in. She tore her eyes away. "What do I do, Chibs? Just keep living until what? Until I come around and decide you'll do for me?" Fuck, that part hurt. It _really _hurt. She saw it hit him and he bit his lip, nodding. "I'm sorry, Chibs. I didn't mean -"

He'd already picked up the pen and scrawled his name, biting out "Yeah, 'ya did." Then he tossed the pen on the island and headed for her door, slamming it behind him. Val stared at the papers and the signature of a person that had always just wanted to be a friend to her, reduced to nothing but a pathetic hanger-on with a few terrible words.

She was the lowest form of dog shit. Lower, even. But the bike didn't fire up right away, and when she crossed to check out the front window she saw him standing next to it on his cell phone. Calling it in to his president, no doubt, who would come to talk her out of this armed, most likely, with dear old mom.

Just what she wanted.

It didn't take the sting away. She had a brand new ache to harbour while she watched him get on his bike, fire it up and back down her driveway before rumbling off into the night. Hurting people to drive them away didn't make her a very nice person, she was aware of that, even if it really was for the best. She knew how it felt.

She packed everything she could in the trunk and back seat of her car. It hurt to leave the Sportster, but there was something much more precious she had to worry about.

Her doorbell rang as she was shutting the car door. Val flicked the garage lights off and shut the inside door, then opened the front one. Gemma was at the front, Jax on the next step down.

"Gemma? Jax? What's going on?"

Gemma pegged her with a look that had likely shrivelled many balls over the year. "We need to talk," she said, no-nonsense and pushing past Val into her living room. Then she noticed Chibs behind them. He entered too and she had a moment rethinking the whole deal as he pointedly ignored her and followed his President into the house.

She hadn't wanted to do this part in front of anyone else, but it was too late now.

Valerie looked to Jax, only getting his back. "What is this? Did something happen?" She shut the door and followed them into her living room. No one sat down. Gemma's arms were crossed, and Jax leaned on the island with one elbow but not looking relaxed in the least. Chibs moved into the kitchen, leaned on the counter and crossed his arms, staring at the ground.

"Are you planning on leaving town?" Gemma snapped.

"What?" she laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"Chibs called. Told us you're planning on leaving town _very soon_." Jax chimed in. "It would have been nice to be included in that information sharing."

Valerie crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, shooting Chibs a look. "I have every right to leave."

"Usually yes. But we had a deal, Val."

Gemma was content to let her son read the riot act, but Valerie kept eye contact with the queen. "You don't need me for that deal," she insisted. "Once the Irish have their money rolling in everything will back to what it was. And if it isn't … well, wasn't that what you wanted at one time?"

Now she turned her attentions to the President in time to see him frown. "What?"

"Weren't you aiming for a more legitimate business model? Get away from the dangerous shit and go more main stream?" She allowed for a pointed pause. "Get your wife and kids out of harm's way?"

"Where is this shit coming from?" Gemma snapped.

Valerie gave Gemma a look. "The manuscript. A new manifesto for the Sons of Anarchy your husband wrote."

Gemma just stared. Jax found his voice. "Valerie, you're talking about shit you don't know anything about, that you have no right to be talking about."

Valerie didn't look away from the mother. "Why were you worried about Jax reading that anyway?"

Gemma's mouth fell open. "Who the hell have you been talking to?"

"What's going on here? I'm going to get pissed if someone doesn't explain it." Jax snapped.

"Gemma? Would you be happy with safer business ventures?" she let her tone go cold.

"Look, Val, you can't leave town. You'll fuck up the deal." Jax was trying to switch tracks on her. He apparently didn't know how much she and Gemma had in common.

"You don't need the deal!" she shouted back. "Do the safe shit. Get your wife out of jail and be around for your kids."

"How dare you," Gemma snarled, stepping towards her.

Valerie stepped up as well. "Gemma, don't push it. I promise you won't like what happens next."

Gemma raised a hand to smack her. Val was just a bit quicker, pulling a Beretta from her back pocket and holding it to the centre of her chest.

"What the fuck -"

"Val," Jax's voice was deadly calm. "You don't want to do that."

She looked to the President. He had a Beretta drawn as well, pointed at _her_. Chibs had come forward too, looking at her now and tilting his head as a warning. But he didn't draw.

"Jax, don't," Gemma asked softly. "She's not going to shoot me. And besides, she's pregnant."

"What?" Both men said it, almost in perfect unison.

"Gemma, you've got a big fucking mouth."

"Val!" Jax shouted. "Drop the gun. Please don't make me do this."

"What do you want?" Gemma demanded, looking very confident she wasn't getting shot. "Just say what you're after and stop wasting time."

Valerie felt tears in her eyes. "I need to repay you, Gemma."

"Just don't hurt Jax," she begged, voice breaking. She already knew what Valerie was talking about.

"I'm not going to do anything to Jax," she told her. "I like Jax. I'm just opening his eyes. It's _you _I have a problem with."

"For the rape."

"For the rape and for Tig."

Gemma shook her head. "I cared about him, too. Val, you have to realize that."

"I do. But I was _in_ love with him. And you brought those people to us. And they killed him. Tig is on _you_. _You _broke my heart." Valerie declared, pressing into her chest with the barrel to make her point.

Gemma's face crumpled. "I loved him, too. I did, Val."

She nodded in reply. "I know. You loved him. And your husband. And your late husband, John. Right?"

Gemma was back to getting angry. "What are you pushing at?"

"This," she whispered, bringing her face close. "This is where I break _your _fucking heart."

They stared at each other for a moment, then, without breaking eye contact Valerie spoke. "Jax. Your mother and stepfather killed your dad when he tried to get the _Sons_ away from dealing guns. Tara found letters from some woman in Ireland your dad had been sending her, he was suspicious they were plotting to get rid of him. Tara knew, some sheriff named Unser knew, and Opie's dad knew before your stepdad killed him."

Gemma's face didn't change all that much, unfortunately. But her eyes widened, and she knew she was sunk. It was enough to tell Valerie that Tara had been right on the mark.

Jax was predictably unconvinced. "Val, you're experiencing some pregnancy hormones here?" Their silence made him uncomfortable. "Gemma? This is bullshit, right?"

Gemma was still frozen in place, she wasn't even breathing. Valerie turned, walked to the door and opened it. "Now get the fuck out of this house. And don't expect to find me here in the morning."

Gemma rushed her. Valerie dropped the Beretta to avoid actually _shooting _her and absorbed the body-check, hitting her door and pinning Gemma's arms to her side to avoid getting punched. They both hit the ground, and Gemma got one hit in, connecting with her cheekbone. Valerie blocked the second one and then rolled her Gemma onto her back, trying to pin her. But The Queen was pissed, got her with one more right and the next thing she knew she was under the woman and about to get her face broken in two.

Someone pulled Gemma off her. Someone else helped Valerie up, then stood in front of her to shield her. It was Chibs.

Jax pushed his mom out onto the stoop. "Mom? Get in the Caddy," he said, low and even.

Gemma was glaring at her, but she did as she was told. Jax slammed the door and turned back. His eyes looked terrifying and his jaw was set in the standard Gemma Morrow _I-will-not-be-fucked-with_ line. Valerie started to back up, and Chibs tensed in front of her, hand going to his President's chest and stopping him from advancing forward. "Jackie," he said low.

"You _better _get the fuck out of town," Jax warned her, staring her down around Chibs' arm. "If you come back, just remember you are not a friend of the club anymore."

"I just want to leave. But I meant what I said, Jax. Save your club. Save your family. And get out from under her thumb." Val's tone had gone from confident to pleading the second Gemma was out of sight.

Jax's look was murderous, and he left without another word, the door shaking the windows on the front of the hose when he slammed it.

Just her and Chibs. Not any better, really.

He turned back to her, his face unreadable. He pinned her in place with a glare. "So that was just to get them here?"

"What?" she played dumb. It was all she had energy for.

Chibs shook his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. "You're pregnant."

"That's why I have to get out of here."

Chibs nodded, then headed for the door. He picked up the Beretta, handing it to her and pointing to it. "That's not why I gave you this, Val." His eyes were hard as he said it.

He turned to the door again, then before grabbing the handle he spun back, shooting her with a look that made her feel a half-foot tall. It was a look that said he was disappointed. "There really _is _something wicked to 'ya, Val."

She felt tears come back, a new ache in her heart as he yanked the door open. "I'm going to miss you, Chibs," she sobbed.

He paused, hand on the knob, then looked back at her over his shoulder. "You have a good life, Doc." Then he was gone.

Everything had gone almost completely according to plan. But the broken heart feeling just got worse.


	73. Epilogue

_**Sixteen months later …**_

She finally had the diploma on the wall, declaring that she, Valerie Turner, was a competent psychologist, as determined by the University of British Columbia. It hung just above the paper stating she was a member of the BC Psychological Association.

It was a simple upgrade, simple work VISA while applying for citizenship. Simple, simple; compared to everything else, of course.

The town she'd settled in was Kitimat. Technically she was outside of the town limits but close enough to say she lived there. Kitimat had a small population, but she didn't need much business to pay her bills. Her savings had paid for most of this two-story Cape Cod and its four acre lot. She was treed in, it was private and peaceful.

Plus, they didn't have a psychologist at all. She already had a client list started, and she was getting pro-bono referrals from the local RCMP detachment as well; all victims of crime and people dealing with the sudden death of a loved one.

It had taken nearly a year for her to get to the point where she could even take Tig's ring out of her jewellery box, put it on a chain and wear it around her neck. Hell, it took that long for her to touch it without bursting into tears.

The tattoo was healed by now; black and gray portrait-style crow, side profile, over her exit wound. Its wings spread backwards like it was about to take off, the feathers reaching nearly to her spine. She needed one touch of colour, though. The artist managed to coax a bright blue eye onto her pale, Irish skin.

Malcolm had been an enormous help in the development of her new life. He'd even let her live with him for a while after she landed on his doorstep over a year before, weeping and completely freaking out that she was homeless and pregnant. He whipped her back into shape emotionally, helped her apply to be a licensed _head-shrinker _in Canada, even helped her find this house and move.

The isolation here was ideal. She could pass mornings on the porch, watching the world wake up with a cup of coffee, nothing but the birds to listen to, laughing to herself when the whole thing seemed _too fucking quiet_; that's when she would head in and start working on a project, whether it was painting a room or installing a hard wood floor. She was quite good at both, as it turned out.

There was a lot to do here, of course. A large yard to care for and a house to reno. But busy was good; busy was what she needed.

The four acres of land, only one acre of which was cleared, was more than enough room for Peggy to enjoy. It was doggy heaven, but Val never worried about her wandering away. She stuck to her yard and Val's side with familiar loyalty.

This landscape, town, and house couldn't be more _different _from Charming. It was another planet, and she was more at home here than she'd felt in a long time. There was no past to hide. She kept Valerie Turner around, since that was her name when she received her initial degree. It was on her passport, her social security number.

And since plenty of people knew about the boogeymen that might be coming to get her … why hide it? It was just energy and money spent she couldn't spare.

Other than the name, everything here felt new. _She _was feeling as good as new.

Val was relieving raspberry bushes of their fruit in the sunshine one hot and humid afternoon. There was a stand of canes planted by a previous owner along the side of a shed. They were like bloody weeds, but she'd never complain about unlimited raspberries in the summer. Peggy was chasing a butterfly and she stopped to watch the dog, laughing.

Valerie'd filled an ice cream pail and was carrying it up the steps to her porch when she froze, mid-step, not sure was hearing correctly. Her home was a kilometre down a grid road that went nowhere in particular, so traffic was light. And on that road motorcycles were incredibly rare.

But that's what she was hearing.

She set the pail down on the top step, made her way along the wrap-around porch to the front of the house, eyeing her front door. She had a new Remington rifle inside the front closet. Unloaded, but it was good to know it was there. Peggy went running to greet the visitor, barking and sounding misleadingly dangerous.

The bike pulled into the yard, the rider killing the engine as he pulled up alongside her Ford Escape. The helmet came off, and just for a moment the world spun and the past sixteen months felt like maybe they hadn't actually happened.

Chibs Telford swung off the bike, pulling off his sunglasses and looking around the cleared acre of grass she had, surrounded by greenery and mature Pacific Rim forest. Absently he lowered one hand and Peggy sniffed it then licked it, tail whipping back and forth, recognizing him.

All Valerie could do was stare, wondering how it was possible he was _here_, a character from a past novel showing up in the new story she was working on.

She had to blink a few times, then she pushed open the screened porch door, letting it shut and making her way down the three wooden steps to a stepping-stone walkway. At the sound of the door he turned, and she wasn't sure what she was expecting. A gun. A horrible, cuss-word laden declaration of what a terrible person she was. An announcement that they all knew where she was and were coming to kill her.

She _didn't _expect a smile. She didn't expect him to stride to her quickly, wrapping her up in a hug that nearly took her off her feet, his voice sounding so familiar as he said, "Jesus, Val. It really is you."

She was frozen in place for a micro-second, then she acted on reflex and hugged him back, her nose prickling and the world going watery. She couldn't talk, couldn't greet him in return. She could only squeeze him like her life depended on it.

When he backed off and held her out at arms' length to look at her she found her voice. "Chibs?" She asked brilliantly. "What are you doing here?"

He squeezed her arms, shaking his head like he couldn't believe he was looking at her. "I didn't think I'd missed you this much."

She took a moment to study what looked different. He was wearing a leather jacket, she noticed immediately, not a SAMCRO kutte, probably since he was in another country.

She shook herself back, laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm just so surprised …"

"Me too."

"Would you like a drink? I made iced tea. Or I can get you a beer."

He nodded. "A beer would be great. It's hot out today."

Valerie turned, nodding for him to follow, and she led him up onto the porch. He parked it on one of the Adirondack chairs she had placed next to the door. Peggy parked it right next to him, nosing her way under his hand again.

"Yeah, I see 'ya, 'ya pushy bitch," he scolded, even as he played with her ears and scratched under her chin.

Valerie retrieved a beer and a glass of iced water, then carried them both back outside. She handed him the bottle that was already sweating and sat in the chair opposite.

For a moment no one said anything. She just stared out at the yard, wondering what in the world could have possibly possessed him to drive up here. Before she could figure out how to ask he spoke.

"Jesus, this is a gorgeous spot."

She nodded. "I like it. I kind of lucked out buying it. The previous owner died in it."

He nearly choked on a mouthful of Alexander Keith's. "What?"

"He died of a heart attack one night. People find it creepy."

"You don't?"

"Not for the price I paid, no." He laughed at that. Ice broken now, she just blurted it out. "What are you doing here?"

He studied the label on the bottle in his hand. "You know that brewery in Prince Rupert?"

"Yes."

"Well, Jax would like them to extend their manufacturing into Seattle. Set up an operation there. Maybe in a few other places, too."

Val frowned. "The _Sons of Anarchy _are in the beer business now?"

Chibs shrugged. "We have investors that would like to make money, just like us. Plus if there's a brewery in Seattle making beer that good, perhaps there's a certain chain of steak houses that might start stocking it as their house draught."

Val had to shake her head. "Wait. Steakhouse managers and brew masters? That's what you guys have gotten yourselves into?"

He shrugged again. "Things have changed a lot, Val."

"Wow."

He smiled. "Tara's case got thrown out. She's back with Jax. It's good. Those boys have their mom back, and it's done Jax a world of good, too."

Her head actually _swam_. "You're kidding."

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. And you know, the money hasn't been nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be." He didn't bring up Gemma and she didn't ask. He took another draw on his beer as he reached into an inside pocket of his jacket. "Which brings me to this."

He set a fat envelope on the table between them. She could immediately see it was stuffed with US currency.

"What is that?" she asked, not moving to touch it.

"That's your cut of the first and only IRA shipment we ran."

"_My_ cut?"

"Tig's cut," he corrected himself.

She shook her head. "It should go to his daughter."

"I gave her _my _cut. You should have something."

"I don't want it."

He leaned over and pushed it closer. "Then just put it in the bank and let it rot there. Maybe one day you'll need it."

Then the rest of what he'd said hit her. "Wait – the _only _shipment? You're done with the guns, too?"

He laughed again, and the sound was so familiar she realized she'd relaxed because of it. "Not _done_, completely. But we're not transporting them. The Tacoma boys take all the risk now, we just let them pick up the shipment and make an _administrative _fee that way."

She'd assumed the deal with the Irish was still good. She moved into her new home, hooked up the internet, and within a week Liam O'Hara had emailed her, asking her how things were. They'd communicated a few times, and she got the sense he knew about her "widowed" status without it being specifically discussed. He wanted to bring her to Ireland, which she declined. He wanted to send her money and she kept refusing. But he never mentioned SAMCRO, she realized.

She stared back out at her yard, now feeling as though sixteen months in her life was probably _nothing _compared to how much life had changed in Charming.

That thought was killed when a scream and a long wail sounded from inside the house, freezing Chibs where he sat. He shot a look at her, almost startled, then he began to smile. "Is … is that ..?"

She had to smile back. "I only had time to get knocked up once, Chibs."

"I was going to ask but I wasn't sure if it had worked out or …"

She just nodded. "Would you like to meet him?"

Chibs swallowed, his eyes looking the slightest bit sad. "A boy?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Christ, that would have made him happy."

Valerie blinked quickly a few times. "I'll go get him," she said, rising and rushing through the front door before the waterworks started.

Getting over Tig alone had been one thing. Talking about him with a mutual friend, seeing the pain brought on by the same loss on someone _else's_ face was an entirely different deal.

She headed off to the right, pushing open the door and wiping at her eyes. The yowling infant was able to stand by holding onto the bars of the crib, and of course the second she came into view the crying stopped, big, fake tears still rolling. Instantly the arms rose high and she picked him up, grunting with the sixteen pound weight she shifted to her hip.

"You're so bloody loud," she muttered, and at her voice he shoved a chubby hand into her hair, grabbing a big strand but not pulling while she checked that he hadn't messed himself during his nap. "Your father would be so proud of you."

She carried him out to the porch, and as she opened the door Chibs turned. He'd taken off the leather jacket to show a plain black T-shirt, and at the sight of the baby his face broke into a grin. "Oh my God, Val. Look at this kid."

"Yeah, he's a charmer."

Chibs' hands came out immediately, and she handed her son over like it was perfectly natural, even though a grand total of three other adults had ever been around this child since his birth; Malcolm, her half-brother and his girlfriend. That was it for his extended circle of associates; that and Peter's daughter, his cousin Annette.

Chibs propped her son up on his forearm, holding him high enough to stare at his face. Of course Chibs would know how to handle a kid. He'd had a daughter, and there were plenty of people in the club with kids. She shouldn't have found it surprising. "The eyes, Val. That's something else."

She nodded, biting back the urge to cry again. "I know. When he opened his eyes in the delivery room the nurses actually _gasped_." She tugged at his sleeper, rearranging it a bit. "I'm glad they haven't changed colour. He was born with all that black newborn hair and it was uncanny. But of course, it all fell out. Now he's just got this peach fuzz."

Chibs risked a look at her, then back at the baby. "The rest of him is all you. Thank Christ. What's his name?"

"Michael Alexander Turner. I call him Mickey."

Chibs nodded. "That's a good idea. That name is pretty grown-up."

Mickey was completely enraptured with Chibs; his hand tried to grab at his beard or shove its way into his mouth. And his eyes wouldn't look away for anything.

"Jesus, he likes _you,_" she remarked with a chuckle.

"Not a lot of men around?"

"What?"

"He's mostly around you, isn't he?" She nodded as an answer. "That's why. It's just the voice."

As he stared at her child, making funny faces that set off a round of old-man-sounding baby chuckles she_ knew_ he wasn't implying she was going to need a man in that kids' life eventually. It was still _her _first thought however, and this grown man doing everything he could to make her son laugh was messing with her.

Plus he had a better "talking to kids" voice than she did.

"God, I've always loved the smell of babies," Chibs admitted, kissing the top of Mickey's head and handing him back.

She fit her son back onto her hip, and his crystalline blue eyes stayed locked on Chibs as he jammed a fist into his mouth.

"You're okay?" Chibs asked after a moment.

Valerie realized her eyes had teared up. "I'm fine," she said, laughing off her sudden case of emotion. "It was easier to compartmentalize Tig away from this," she said, shifting Mickey slightly. "As weird as that sounds. But you being here … it's part of everything. The club, Charming, it's still affecting me."

As much as she'd fought the idea of SAMCRO as _family_, she couldn't dispute that the club had been the family of her child's father. She may have had a few people _she_ counted as family, but Tig's version of that _had _been in Charming. And she realized some of them might actually care about this drool monster she was holding, for _Tig's_ sake.

Chibs looked out across her yard. "You're sure this is where you want to be?"

Valerie nodded immediately. "Absolutely. It feels perfect."

Chibs turned those wise, dark eyes back to her. "Come back if you ever change your mind, Valerie. Please. There's no need to be all alone."

He'd suggested that to her once before, and she wasn't entirely sure he wasn't leading that thought down the same path. They stared at each other for a long moment and she smiled. "I know that. But this is the place for us."

He nodded. "Okay. But the invitation is always there."

"Thank you." She wouldn't make light of the offer. She honestly appreciated it from him.

He put his jacket back on, ruffled Mickey's hair and kissed the top of his head again, breathing deep. Valerie had to laugh; she loved the baby-smell, too. When he stood up again, he was close. Too close. She didn't back up. His eyes on hers were … strange. They'd always been kind, caring. It was still a good feeling to see it again.

Then he kissed her. Nothing earth-shattering, nothing that made her pulse race or curled her toes in her sandals. She actually felt no reaction at all as he brushed his lips on hers; just the slightest thrill at the smell of beer, dust and leather.

Valerie stepped back, face down. She'd never fall in love with an MC patch and be with someone just for the fact they rode a bike. That wasn't what she had loved about Tig, and right off the bat she couldn't substitute Chibs in his place. Valerie wasn't in a spot where she could learn to love someone else. Not yet. Just a kiss, but nothing she wanted to pursue or encourage. And she felt no anger or annoyance that he had done it. Chibs just nodded, having expected her reaction.

Unembarrassed, he walked past her through the screen door, and she silently followed him back to his bike. He put on his helmet, turning back. "We're going to be in Seattle a lot, possibly Prince Rupert, too. Would it be okay if I visited again? If I called first?" The promise to call lessened her obligation for emotional attachment for some reason.

She hoisted Mickey higher up on her hip. "Sure."

"Maybe I'll bring Juice," he added, swinging his leg over the bike. "He misses you."

She smiled. "Aww, Juice."

"There's a gift from him in that envelope. He was clearing off a digital camera and came across something he just couldn't delete. Thought you might like to have it."

"Really?"

Chibs nodded, waved his fingers goodbye at Mickey and started the bike. Mickey jumped in her arms then his face broke into the widest grin she'd ever seen him make. Chibs laughed in response as he waved goodbye a second time and pulled a U-turn, accelerating down the lane away from her house. Peggy followed, bravely barking now that the noise was retreating.

Mickey could only stare, the sound of a Harley obviously the most thrilling thing he'd known outside of breast milk. Valerie shook her head. "Shit," she muttered. "I'm in trouble with you, aren't I?"

He babbled back and she carried him to the porch, standing over the table with the envelope of money, swaying Mickey back and forth while deciding what to do. Eventually she sat, huddled her son on her lap and opened the flap on the envelope. Heavier-grade paper was at the back of all the bills, and she drew it out, ignoring the money, letting it drop back on the table.

When she turned the scrap of photo stock over she nearly dropped it. It was her, and in the photo she was laughing and trying to avoid … her eyes welled up. Tig was trying to kiss her, but he had a bloody nose and split eyebrow. He was grinning too, his smile in profile. It was from the night of Happy's birthday, the night …

The picture swam out of focus, and she gasped, the first sob shaking her. Mickey muttered baby talk, reaching for the photo. She avoided his droolly hands, holding it up again, showing it to him.

"There he is, little man," she whispered hoarsely, face in his peach fuzzed head, squeezing him tight. "There's your daddy."

* * *

**Thank you again for your follows and reviews! They make my day.**


End file.
